The man sitting across from him didn’t move much. Didn’t have to.
Bryce Keller exuded confidence and power. He was dressed in one of his handmade charcoal-gray suits, which probably cost more than what Cho made from his job in three months. He lifted up the heavy crystal glass of Macallan 25, his gold nugget cufflinks catching the afternoon sun.
Cho cleared his throat. “I assume you heard about Richard?”
Keller’s eyes didn’t flicker. “I have.”
“Then I guess you can understand the pressure I’m under. They’re talking about public hearings, maybe a task force. I need support—resources, a strategy, anything that covers me.”
“You need to stop talking,” Bryce said, taking another sip of scotch.
Cho blinked. “I—I’m sorry?”
Bryce set the glass down and leaned forward. “You were given simple instructions. Stall the redevelopment project. Create enough red tape to drive Ms. Harper out.”
Cho swallowed. “There were complications.”
“Complications?” Bryce arched a brow. “You mean like Cummings hiring a dumbass enforcer, kidnapping a woman and leaving a trail a drunk raccoon could follow?”
Sweat trickled down Cho’s temples. His palms were clammy. “I had no idea he would kidnap the woman.”
“No,” Bryce said, sitting back. “You didn’t. Which is the only reason you’re still breathing and having this conversation.”
Cho let out a shaky breath. “So … what’s the plan? What are you going to do about damage control?”
Bryce stood, smoothing down his jacket. “The plan, Councilman, is very simple.” He walked to the window, gazing out over the golf course. “You’re on your own.”
Cho shot to his feet. “Wait. You can’t just leave me out to dry. What about Sarah Granger? She’s in this just as deep.”
“She’s also been advised,” Bryce said without turning. “Consider this your formal severance. My employers don’t protect loose ends.”
Cho’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Bryce finally turned, cold and calm. “If you’re smart, you’ll talk to a lawyer. And forget you ever heard of us.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Keller, what happens to me?” Cho called after him, desperation in his voice.
“That depends,” he said over his shoulder, “on how well you remember your lines when the subpoenas come.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
And not for the first time, Councilman Cho wished he’d never picked up the phone.
Cho satin the corner of a greasy spoon a few miles away from Haywood Lake, nursing a rotgut cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. The chipped mug was a long way from the elegant dining room and crystal glasses at the country club.
He checked his watch again. He hadn’t slept. Barely eaten since his meeting yesterday with Keller. Every time his phone rang, he flinched, expecting the worst.
The bell over the door jingled.
Sarah Granger stepped inside looking way too polished to be stopping in this dive: crisp white blouse, gray pencil skirt, sunglasses on her head and a slim purse tucked under one arm. She didn’t even look around. Just spotted him immediately, walked over, brushed crumbs off the vinyl seat before sliding into the booth across from him.
Cho leaned in. “You got my message.”
“I did.” She set the purse on the table and waved off the waitress. “No coffee for me, thanks.”
“We need to talk.”
