Chapter 16 #2
“Ever think he saw that other snake and let it attack, waiting for the right moment to come in and be a hero?” Cullen asked. “Because that’s what it looked like to me from where I was sitting that day.”
“I suppose that could be true.” Trent had never wanted to believe that. Karl was a lot of things, but to risk his friend's life? Oh, hell, they weren’t friends. They never really had been because Karl only cared about himself.
Cullen picked up the manila envelope. "My turn." He opened the flap, slid a photograph out, and pushed it across the table.
Trent picked it up. Slightly grainy, taken at a distance, phone camera pushed to its limits, but clear enough.
Two men in a parking lot. One was Karl Simpson.
Unmistakable, even blurred. The bulk. The sun-ruined skin.
The posture of a man who'd spent his whole life believing he was the smartest person in any room and being wrong every single time.
The other man was clean-cut and well-dressed. The kind of polish that didn't grow in the Everglades. But he also had an edge. It was the way he stood. Wide stance. Arms crossed. Shoulders square.
"Why is Karl Simpson talking to Garrett Dutton?" Trent set the photo down. "The man's running for state senate."
""He's also a former U.S. Marshal. Twenty-one-year career. Southern District of Florida," Dawson said.
“I’m well aware of what he used to be,” Trent said. “He also was on my father’s protection detail with Slade.”
Dawson shifted his gaze to Dove. “I believe your uncle might have been keeping things from you and from Trent.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Dove said. “Whatever he knew, someone killed him for it.”
“I’ve asked Buddy and Sterling to do some digging where I can’t,” Dawson said. “But I've learned something quite disturbing.”
Trent ran a hand across his face. “I can’t imagine anything more unsettling than watching your father’s casket come out of the ground.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that today,” Dawson said, leaning forward.
“But one of the reasons Slade might have shown up here is because Dutton is romantically involved with Courtney Kirk.” Dawson tapped his fingers on the table.
“As in the daughter of Edward Kirk, who was the CEO of Gulf Coast Energy Partners.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Trent mumbled.
“It gets worse.” Dawson reached for his coffee and took a long sip, as if this were a great time to pause. “She’s a criminal attorney. Has done some white-collar stuff but also has some shady clients that have been associated with mobsters.”
“Fucking wonderful.” Trent stared at the photograph on the table.
Karl's stupid, smug face next to a man in a tailored jacket.
Two people who had no business knowing each other, standing three feet apart, talking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He thought about spiderwebs—how you could stare at individual strands for hours and never see the design until you stepped back far enough.
He was stepping back now. And he didn't like how the present looked a lot like the past.
“My theory is that Karl can provide key information on you and Mallor’s Landing," Dawson said.
Trent turned to Dawson. “Why is my property important to any of these people?”
Dawson flipped open the folder. “On a hunch, based on the odd happenings at your place, Slade’s death, and especially this morning, Buddy looked more closely into Sovereign Resources.” Dawson pushed a few pages across the table.
“What am I looking at?” Trent asked as Dove leaned over his shoulder.
“Official complaints from residents who live near one of their mining sites.” Dawson leaned back.
Trent lifted one of the pages. “It says here that not only do the residents believe they are mining irresponsibly, but that there is strange activity at all hours of the night.”
“I’ll take over here.” Buddy had stepped into the room holding a few pieces of paper in his hands.
“A couple of residents who live the closest and never wanted the company there in the first place, hired a private investigator.” Buddy set the papers on the table and sat on the edge.
“The PI is still investigating and can’t prove anything yet, but he’s pretty sure that Sovereign Resources is using their mining sites to bury evidence for Courtney’s clients. ”
“Her clientele is quite eccentric,” Dawson said.
“Her roster reads like a list of people you don't want to meet anywhere, let alone a dark alley.
Mob-adjacent. Organized. Violent. The kind of people who keep attorneys on retainer the way normal people keep dentists—not because they might need one, but because they know they will.
" He looked around the table. "Chloe is reaching out to FBI contacts to pull whatever she can on Courtney's background and client history.
Sterling's working his CIA channels to do the same.
If there's something to find, they'll find it. "
Trent set down the paper and rubbed his temples. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“From what I can tell, Sovereign Resources acts as an evidence laundering service, and Courtney is at the center of it,” Buddy said.
“Her clients need evidence buried, she offers them a service, and she takes care of it. They need someone to disappear—she helps them with that. And what better place to do that than the Everglades.”
“And Dutton, Courtney’s boyfriend, is all about the mining,” Cullen said.
“Not to mention that buried in all the LLCs that own Sovereign Resources is Courtney’s name, along with her father.” Buddy tapped the papers. “They want Mallor’s Landing because it gives them water access. Allows them to come and go without being noticed.”
“Jesus,” Dove muttered, grabbing Trent’s hand under the table.
He took it. And squeezed. Hard. “And the Hendersons?”
“Big campaign backers of Dutton.” Buddy stood. “But also, I found Emma’s name—her maiden name—on an LLC filing for one of the holdings for Sovereign Recourses.”
Trent pushed his chair back but couldn’t bring himself to stand.
He didn’t trust his legs would hold his weight.
“This is similar to what my father went up against. Slimy politicians. Criminal activity.” He closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly before blinking open his eyes.
“I bet Dutton was the agent who leaked my father’s name. ”
“Probably destroyed evidence too,” Buddy said. “I have a lot more digging to do for tonight's town hall. So, I'd better have at it.” He turned and strolled out of the conference room.
Dawson straightened. "One more thing. I received word this morning that Dutton plans to attend the town hall meeting.
" He let that settle across the table. “My entire team will be on duty tonight, and Buddy and Sterling agreed to help. But I want everyone in this room to be on their best behavior and act like you don’t know shit about any of this and do not engage.” Dawson shifted his gaze between Trent and Dove. “Do I make myself clear?”
“I’ll keep him in check,” Dove said.
“She won’t have to.” Trent rolled his neck. “I have no desire to get into it with any of these people. I know what it cost my father. I’ll let you do your job,” he said. “But if Karl’s there, he’ll come for me.”
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Keaton said.
“I’m working on an angle with Karl.” Cullen had a calm, settled expression that he didn’t always carry. He might have come a long way from the man who lived in the shadows waiting to die, but he was still a man who struggled with daily life.
“I thought I’d reach out,” Cullen continued. "See if he wants to grab drinks either before or after the meeting. A couple of guys from Calusa Cove haven't caught up in a while. Keep it easy. See what he says when he thinks he's talking to an old friend."
“You were never friends.” Something cold moved through Trent's chest. Not fear for himself—he'd long ago made peace with the risks that came with living the way he’d lived.
But the idea of Cullen walking toward something dangerous, wearing a friendly smile as camouflage, landed differently now.
Loss had sharpened his awareness of what he still had, and the people sitting around this table were most of it.
“We weren’t either, and look at us now.” Cullen smiled. “Uncle Silas calls what we have a bromance.”
Dawson chuckled. “I say that about Hayes and Keaton.”
“You’re just jealous,” Keaton said.
“You all can make light of this if you want, but you don’t know Karl like I do, and you don’t know the shit he put Cullen through when we were kids. I don't like it," Trent said.
"I know you don't. But you don’t have to.” Cullen cocked his head. “There’s a lot at stake here, and let's not forget the marshal’s office dug up your dad’s body. They did that for a reason, and something tells me it wasn’t just to check information.”
“Agreed.” Dawson nodded. “Either they believe the dead man’s cache is bogus, or they’re lying to us, or something else entirely is going on. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s making Dutton nervous.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better about Cullen—”
“I appreciate the concern,” Cullen said, interrupting Trent. “I’m doing great, and if I weren’t, I’d step back. You need to trust that.”
“Okay.” Trent nodded.
The meeting broke up after that. Chairs pushed back. A last reach for doughnuts. Coffee cups refilled or abandoned.
“I need to go speak with Buddy,” Dove said.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” Trent held her gaze.
She leaned up, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the hallway.
Dawson shook Trent's hand on the way out. Keaton followed. Fallon paused long enough to catch Trent's eye and give him the look she'd been giving him since he was twenty-one and had pulled her out of a river—the one that said everything without speaking a word.
No matter what, she was still his best friend. That meant more than words.
Then it was just him and Cullen.