“Hell no, I don’t know Griggs’s golf buddies,” she says, searching frantically for something in her notes. “But I know those names. Here, take a look.”
Judge Billy Thacker: Shady judge overseeing Castillo’s case. Why didn’t he subpoena the deed holding company?
Jim Wade:
Griggs’s family foundation money man
Chair of State’s Board of Natural Resources. Pushed through Lake Chiaha 100-year lease for nearly nothing. Why did the board go along with this?
Offshore Bank in Panama: Who in the world is Dudley Magruder? Is he laundering money for Griggs?
Recognition dawns on me as I read through the notes. “A Panamanian banker was golfing with Griggs a few days ago,” I exclaim. “I mean, he lives in Panama now, but his family’s Old Atlanta, and he grew up here.”
“Fuckers! All of ’em,” Luisa grumbles. “These assholes are all in on the scheme, I’m sure of it. They’re gonna cash in big when this development happens.”
“But Jim Wade? Really?” I say. “I mean, Judge Thacker is a corrupt boozehound. I wouldn’t rely on him to dispense justice on my behalf, that’s for sure.” I shudder at the thought. “But Jim’s such a mild-mannered old guy.” I read through Luisa’s notes, tapping at the page with one finger. “I’m pretty sure he dedicated his retirement to protecting wildlife habitats. How can he be in on this scam?”
“The guy is a crooked SOB,” Luisa assures me. “They all are. If only we could get solid evidence of criminal activity—bribes, fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, racketeering. If we could just catch them in the act. But how? And where?”
“Thewhereis easy,” I offer. “The Men’s Grill, in the locker room at the club—that’s where all the big deals go down.”
Luisa lets out a hollow laugh. “Okay, first, don’t even getme started on why there’s a grill in a locker room. Second, what would we do exactly? Turn ourselves into naked, sweaty white dudes in robes? That’s one makeover I’d like to avoid.”
A loud noise erupts from around the pool table. Distracted, we both look toward the hubbub just in time to see the bearded guy sweep a clump of dejected KAs’ money off the table.
“He’s good,” I say, awed. “You were right.”
“He’s also a criminal,” she responds matter-of-factly.
“When it comes down to it,” I tell her, gesturing toward the pool hustler with my beer bottle, “that man is no different from Griggs. Look at him. He’s cunning, smooth-talking, and charming as hell.” Luisa quirks an eyebrow at me skeptically. “The only difference between him and the Golden Boy of the Dogwood Hills Country Club is a clean shave, a pressed oxford, and a crisp pair of selvage denim jeans.”
“Can’t say I have a lot of experience with country club criminals,” Luisa says, still watching him closely. “But it would take a hell of a lot more than a makeover to turn that man into somebody like Griggs.”
We watch the pool hustler saunter casually away from the frat boys, grinning as he slides the wad of cash into his pocket. And, just like that, a flash of intuition moves through me. I absolutely could turn that guy into a country club boy with cash to burn, a cocky kid who’s desperate to prove himself a man.
“Wanna bet?” I ask, leaning back and folding my arms across my chest, as my utter dejection turns into hope.
“Bet on what?” Luisa says, turning to me.
“That we can make that pool hustler into a country club boy,” I say, feeling bolder by the second.
Luisa looks at me like I have three heads. “You’ve lost your mind, Holly.”
“He’ll be in and out so fast,” I argue. “It will work. I know the place. I know the people. I know the rules. I know them all—even better than Griggs does. I know the frontandback of the house,” I insist, undeterred. “Plus, with your investigative skills and my know-how, we can easily make him into a trust fund baby. We’ll slide him into that golf foursome as a potential angelinvestor. In and out, with the proof we need.” I snap my fingers beside my face for effect.
Ginny leans in to top off Luisa’s mezcal. She nods appreciatively and takes a long sip. I’ll say this about Luisa: The woman sure can handle her liquor.
“A pool-hustler makeover?” she scoffs, putting the glass down. “That’s your brilliant idea? Why would they let a stranger in on their secrets?”
“This wouldn’t be just any stranger,” I say. “It would be a gullible young guy with tons of money to dump into their project. You have to understand—for Griggs, enough isneverenough. I’ll bet anything, if there’s a big pile of cash sitting in front of him, under an impressionable young angel investor, he won’t be able to resist.”
“It’s not a terrible plan.” Luisa shrugs. “To find someone we can send inside for intel, but why not someone from their world? Someone already connected to them?”
“Haveyoulost your mind?” I exclaim. “No one—and I meanno one—from that world would risk double-crossing Griggs Johnson.” I shake my head. “You have to believe me. We need a complete outsider.”
I watch as Luisa thinks. I can see the wheels turning in her brain.
“Okay, let’s just suspend disbelief for a moment and pretend we can find some outsider to say he wants to invest. And I don’t mean Lumberjack Guy over there.” She gestures toward the pool table. “There’s no actual cash. Just a guy made over to seem like he has money. How exactly are we supposed to finance this grand scheme?”
