Chapter Five
Lula
Shit.
How the hell was I going to handle this?
Continue to lie? Let them keep compiling?
To what end?
And, God, wouldn’t it feel good for someone to know? Someone to understand? To empathize? To maybe offer some advice?
“Lula,” Raff said, his voice velvet-soft.
So soft that I felt immediate tears flood my eyes.
“Hey,” he said, getting to his feet and crossing the room in two strides.
“Whatever it is, it’s not worth your tears,” he assured me, even as his hands framed my face and his thumbs wiped the first ones away.
Unfortunately for me, the worst thing someone could do when I was already feeling fragile was be nice to me.
The floodgates opened.
And I started to pour over.
Raff made a sad sound, then reached to pull me against him.
It just felt so good to be held.
I wasn’t sure the last time I felt someone’s arms around me. Let alone a man’s.
What can I say? I was a bit of a hard woman at times. Especially around men. I rarely found ones I felt safe enough to be soft with.
Maybe it was because I was just so overwhelmed. Or maybe it was because some part of me innately knew that Raff could be trusted. But I was putty with him right then.
Weeks of uncertainty, betrayal, shock, sadness, fear, and anger spilled out onto his shirt, soaking it through, as he held me close, his hand gently sliding up and down my spine.
Only when I was dried out and sniffling did he let me pull away to turn and walk into the bathroom.
I closed the door to pull myself together: blowing my nose, wiping off my ruined makeup.
There was no going back now.
I sucked in a deep breath and moved back into the room.
Raff was back on the desk chair.
I made my way to the end of the bed and sat down, exhaling hard.
“Okay. Let’s have it.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because everything about you interests me,” he said, making my belly do a strange little tightening thing. “Last time I checked in, you were living in a penthouse, doing Pilates, spending your weekends getting pampered, basically living your best life.”
“I was,” I agreed.
Raff watched me for a minute, something close to understanding in his eyes. “So, what’s his name?”
“Drake Holland. But it wasn’t like that.”
Well, it mostly wasn’t like that.
“It doesn’t matter if it was,” Raff assured me. “Wouldn’t think any different about you.”
He probably wouldn’t.
I couldn’t claim to know Raff very well. All our interactions had been surface-level. But everything I did know about him suggested he was not a judgmental kind of person.
“Come on. Let me shoulder some of it before it brings you to your knees.”
“I make a nice living with the Murphy brothers.”
“I figured. Those are nice shoes,” he said, glancing down at my feet.
He was making this a lot easier than I’d anticipated.
“Each year, right after tax time, I get a bonus.”
“Very structured for a criminal organization.”
“I decided a few years back to start socking away that bonus each year.”
“Boss bitch shit. I’m familiar. And by ‘familiar,’ I mean in an abstract kind of way. My money loves leaving me behind.”
“And my grandfather used to tell me that very little in life gives you as much power as a deed. So I decided to buy something with it once I had enough.”
“A house?”
“Land. Before all these developers came sniffing, land was available for a song around here. No one wanted to build this close to a prison. I got twenty acres for… less than it would cost to buy a house.”
“Look at you making mogul moves. Are you planning to build a house there?”
“I was.”
I had it all picked out: the floor plan, the counters, floors, types of windows, cabinets, furniture, curtains. I had it planned down to the dang soap dishes and sponges.
“What got in the way?”
“Drake got in the way.”
It had just been a normal day. I’d been leaving a Pilates class and was considering driving out of town to hit up my favorite sushi place to bring home for dinner. Maybe indulge in a little ridiculous reality television. Shop for bath blankets.
“Excuse me,” a man called, making me turn. I found a very attractive man: tall, fit, wearing a three-piece suit, with well-groomed chestnut hair, brown eyes, a charming, straight white smile, glasses that almost immediately made me figure he was smarter than he probably was, and a great watch.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Would you happen to be Lula?”
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Drake Holland.”
“That’s a soap opera name,” I teased.
“My mother is an avid watcher. That must explain it.”
“I’m Lula. Can I help you with something?”
“I’m a developer.”
Of course he was.
The town had been crawling with them lately.
I wasn’t sure what it was about Shady Valley that made them decide to descend upon us. Maybe it was the sweet, small-town vibes (as lacking as they were in many essentials). Or it could be the gorgeous Death Valley mountain range that could even look pastel in some places.
Because, normally, a prison in town was enough to discourage development. I guess they were getting desperate for cheap, abundant land to build on.
Shady Valley as a whole was mixed on how they felt about it. On the one hand, we did genuinely need more housing. On the other, people were afraid of losing the small-town feel. The only thing everyone was in agreement on was that we could use a few more shops and restaurants in town.
“And I’ve been informed that you own twenty acres of some of the best land in Shady Valley.”
“I do. Let me guess. You want to buy it from me.”
“I want to build on it with you.”
“Oh, the old ‘let’s build a development together’ scam,” Raff said, shooting me that smile of his again. “Let me guess. He wined and dined you.”
He had.
He’d invited me out of town to a very fancy restaurant where he ordered amazing wine and incredible steaks.
Then he launched into it all: his vision for the land, what kind of houses he would build, how he wanted to make sure each one was unique so it didn’t look like one of those ‘suburban hellscapes.’
I’d been sucked right in. I, too, hated when every single house lined up in a row looking exactly the same.
He also had plans to make the neighborhood winding so you could walk your dog or take your kids on bike rides and for there to be a big park at the end with a basketball court, soccer/baseball field, picnic tables, and a big playground.
By the time I sank my spoon into the brownie sundae dessert, I’d been all in.
“And we will start with your own house, of course!”
By the time I climbed into my bed later, I was sure I was about to have the home of my dreams… and millions in the bank.
He made it sound so possible.
Not only possible, but easy.
Maybe that was the first red flag I’d ignored.
But if there’d been any concerns, he’d spent the next few weeks easing my nerves and answering my questions.
He’d had blueprints drawn up.
He compiled vision boards for types of stone, floors, cabinets, fixtures. Which houses had front porches or back ones, who got a two-car garage, what kind of fences or shrubbery could be planted to lend some kind of privacy. Everything. He had it all mapped out.
“So he romanced you with the plans, got you all excited about a lucrative business venture. Then?”
“Then we set things in motion. I started working on the permitting, surveys, environmental studies…”
“Sounds expensive.”
“It wasn’t cheap.”
“And, let me guess, he didn’t invest.”
“He set up the LLC and drafted up the loan paperwork.”
“Shit.”
“I looked it up. It was all very… normal. I never would have signed without researching. He was meant to pay me back from his portion of the sales of the homes. And then he got to work on the contractors. Things really seemed to be progressing.”
“Except, I don’t remember seeing any development around here lately.”
“I kept getting excuses. The contractor was finishing another job. The wood we ordered was on backorder. Everything seemed reasonable. You hear horror stories about building things. There are always delays. For the first few months, I didn’t question it too much.”
“And then?”
“And then Drake started being harder to reach. He claimed he was traveling. Visiting other building projects. It was another red flag I ignored.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“He missed a third scheduled meeting. At that point, I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in… six weeks. And it just felt wrong.”
“So you went digging.”
Boy, did I ever.
I tore through every document, pored over every line. And then, then I checked the account.
“Drained?”
“Nearly, yeah. And the bills started rolling in for the contractors, for the supplies...”
“So you decided to sell your condo.”
“I had enough left of the loan for some of it. And some savings. But it wouldn’t be enough.”
“Why not cancel the plan? Was his name on everything?”
My gaze cut to him.
“His name wasn’t on anything. He had access to the account we opened for the LLC, but he took no actual financial risk.”
“Let me guess the next part. He stopped answering his calls, and you never saw him again.”
“I had nothing but a mental image and paperwork that was forged. His name isn’t actually Drake Holland, as far as I can tell.”
“What were you doing in Florida? Did you track him there?”
“I think I did, but too late. I feel like I’ve been several steps behind this whole time.”
“To be fair, that was by design, wasn’t it? He’s a scammer. He planned this whole thing so he could stay ahead of you. He’d be a piss-poor conman if he didn’t.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Why not just sell it?”
“The land?”
“Yeah.”
“Because it’s mine. Because I worked hard for that. Because I want to build a home there. Because he sparked an interest, and now I want to see it through.”
“I get that. How in the hole are you?”
“The market isn’t as good as it was when I bought, but I made back a decent chunk. Enough to keep anyone from coming after me for money they were owed. But… but there’s nothing left. I even sold furniture and some handbags, jewelry, and shoes that I didn’t really need.”
“I hate to point this out,” Raff started.