Page 56 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 24

Grayson

I dropped Poppy back at her office after lunch. Well, after I drove us to the edge of town, down a private country road and made her come twice in the back seat. I still feel a buzz. Our hands and mouths on each other’s bodies, my cock inside her, coming together. It doesn’t happen every time we have sex, but it’s amazing when it does.

I’ve never felt so connected to another person. And I share a mind meld with O. It’s not the same. Obviously. I don’t know how I managed to get through 35 years of life without her, let alone how I’ll get through another day now, and I don’t want to find out. I need her. I’m addicted. My response to her is chemical.

She’s everything I could ever want in a partner, besides her consistent tardiness. And as crazy as it sounds, it only enhances her charm. I’m more than willing to put up with it, especially when it’s her worst offense. She intrigues me. I’ve never met a woman like her; she’s not interested in my money or my status. She’s funny, honest, smart, beautiful. For lack of a better word, perfect. And don’t get me started on Harp. That kid is so special. She’s had me wrapped around her finger since day one. I’m going riding with her Saturday and cannot wait. It’s going to be our thing. Just us. For the life of me I can’t understand how I ever thought going through the motions of singlehood was fulfilling. Or how Poppy’s ex left either of them. He must’ve been blind. And so stupid. Some people really don’t know what they have. I won’t be making that mistake for sure. I’m holding on to both of them for as long as they’ll let me.

I need to get my head right. I’m running a half hour late, but there was no way I was seeing Poppy today and not fucking her senseless. Especially after she whispered, ‘I’m not wearing panties,’ in my ear as we left the restaurant. I’d broken practically every traffic law to get to a private enough spot to take her. And I took her. Hard. It wasn’t elegant, but it was explosive.

Shit, the elevator’s almost there. My ADHD is out of control today. I shake those pleasant thoughts from my brain and refocus on the matter at hand. I’m traveling up to the top floor of Maxwell Holdings to meet my dad, brother, Cannon and Jake. All of whom, I trust implicitly.

I enter the room, and the solemn tone envelops me. All those endorphins I’d worked so hard for earlier seem to fade away. O doesn’t even give me shit about being late; his number one pet peeve (time is money—and O doesn’t squander either). As soon as I take a seat at the black marble table in the private boardroom, my dad starts speaking, “All right gentlemen. Someone is trying to ruin Grayson’s campaign. It could be more than one person, and I have a feeling it could be the same people that breeched the bank. We need to get to the bottom of this as quickly and as quietly as possible. I want to know who would dare threaten a member of my family. And personally, see to it that they are punished to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Been watching House of Cards again dad?” O smirks, getting a small chuckle from the room; I’m the only one that doesn’t get the joke, but he succeeded in lightening the mood. It’s still pretty heavy though. Dad looks sheepish for about two seconds before O waves him off. Interrupting him before he can continue. “Jokes aside, believe me when I say that I comprehend the seriousness of the situation.” He nods at me to carry on.

I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around everything. “Cann, why don’t you start from the beginning, and I’ll fill in, as necessary.”

He takes a deep breath and starts telling everyone about the money missing from my account through an electronic withdrawal. “When the bank contacted me, I thought all the transactions in question looked legit, except one. I immediately got in touch with G. Looking back through the bank records and receipts for the past several months and noticed no transactions from any company with that particular abbreviation or acronym. It wasn’t familiar to Beverly either. And when I asked you about it,” he pauses looking at me.

“I hadn’t authorized any transactions to anyone in that amount. I couldn’t find anything about the company online and the bank’s investigation didn’t turn up anything either. The breech happened early in the morning and they didn’t want to panic clients until they had more information. The funds were routed to a Swiss bank, but the account had since been closed. It looks like some kind of scam, though how the hackers got past the bank’s security with zero trace, they still don’t know. They filed reports and the insurance should reimburse me and all the other people whose accounts were breeched.”

O pops up with an ‘I know a guy that might be able to help.’ Jake eyes him warily; I can tell he’s not loving the idea of someone working outside the confines of the law. I don’t blame him. I don’t need anything blowing up in my face.

“We were contacted by the bank manager the day the theft happened. I’m afraid we just don’t have the resources to deal with a cyber-crime of that scale here; we handed the investigation over to the FBI. And, unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be a priority for them. But I’m confused. How is someone stealing from G, going to ruin his campaign?” Jake asks, crossing his arms. Shit, how did Jake’s forearms get that ripped? He’s always trying to get me to go to the gym with him. Now I’m re-thinking my refusals. God, I’m easily distracted.

“My team did some digging; hundreds of people were targeted and $2.9 million in total was taken. Whoever did this, took money from G’s campaign fund, and now there are rumors swirling that he’s somehow mixed up with all this, The Desert Kings and a New York crime family.” Cannon says quietly. “It looks suspish, and residents are not gonna love it.”

Realization dawns on Jake, “A: how did you come across any of that information? It is not public knowledge. And B: G’s richer than God. Hell, all of you are. Who in their right mind would think he’s embezzling money from his own campaign, as well as stealing money from a small group of the Willow Creek citizenry to pay off the local biker gang or the mob? And C: Why would he do something that stupid?” His gaze draws on me, “You didn’t do something that stupid, did you?”

“Fu-heck no! I’d never mess around with The Kings. They run drugs and guns and God knows what else. Probably the same kinds of things crime families dabble in. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t be so stupid as to use money from my campaign, money given to me by donors. I have more than enough to cover just about anything I’d ever want to do in my personal accounts. Heck, I have enough to fund anything my children’s, children’s children would want to do. I would never take money from the people of this town without earning it or giving something back in return. Besides, you’ve known me almost my entire life. I’m pretty freaking straight laced. I don’t even know how I would contact those guys, let alone get mixed up with them in some kind of domestic gang-related incident.” Jake nods contritely.

“Sorry, man. I know, but I’m obligated to ask,” he replies lightly. It’s his job; I get it. He has to do things by the book. But it still annoys me. I stew while he sits quietly mulling over the situation. Everyone does, and the silence is unnerving. Cannon is the first to break by answering Jakes initial questions.

“I honestly, didn’t know a lot until last night. Rusty contacted me to get a quote for a story he’s researching. After talking to him for about five minutes, I knew someone had spun him one hell of a yarn. He wouldn’t say who his sources were, but he claimed a witness had seen G at the bank shaking hands with Weston Kruz, the president of the Desert Kings.”

“That’s a damn lie,” I can’t help but interject. I’ve never met any member of a biker gang. At least, not knowingly. Now, looking back at that day, there was a man outside of the bank. But there weren’t any motorcycles or a hint of leather anywhere. I’d gone in for a meeting with Mr. Blalock; afterward, a bearded, tatted up guy in his mid-forties, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and an army ranger ballcap stopped me to ask some questions then expressed interest in contributing to my campaign. He didn’t give his name; I just figured he was a veteran. A little rough around the edges perhaps, but all in all— good people. Apparently, I’m a shit judge of character.

“He claims to have photographic evidence of the meeting which happened just days after the breech. Coincidence? He thinks not.” Like I was the only person who met with the bank manager in that time frame. He personally assured everyone their money was safe and they were doing everything possible to catch the culprits. He was probably busier that week than he’d ever been in his life. “Rusty also claimed to have names, dates and statements to prove G’s ties to the gang and the missing money and could link it to the mafia. He’d continue to research the story until he felt he had enough to run it. In the meantime, he wanted to give us the opportunity to rebut. Obviously, I denied the story had an ounce of truth.”

Well, shit. A picture is worth a thousand words. Even though the story isn’t true, that picture will lend it some credence. I hadn’t given that day a second thought until now, seeing as I’d hung out with Poppy afterward, that overshadowed anything else that happened on that particular day.

“If that’s the case, I need to speak with him. The department’s investigation as well as the banks have turned up zilch. What can Rusty possibly know, that we don’t?” Jake looks irritated and mildly confused.

Cannon takes a deep breath, clearly not done yet. “I was having lunch with Sanders, earlier… I know.” He holds up his palm next to his face, halting our objections. “We were childhood friends and our parents are still close. We get together a couple times a year. It makes daddy happy.” He rolls his eyes at the hard stare O, Jake and I are giving him. “Yes, he’s a douche, I know.”

My dad pats his shoulder, “you’re a good son, Cannon. We all have to do things we don’t want to for the greater good. Now finish what you were saying.” His reassuring, father-like pat on the shoulder clearly puts Cann at ease.

“Well, we were paying the bill when Rusty happened to walk by the table to congratulate Sanders on a moving speech at the town hall meeting the other night. Apparently, he gave a riveting oration on livestock and climate change. Spoiler alert: Willow Creek isn’t doing their part. Apparently, we should be boycotting beef.” He rolls his eyes yet again before continuing.

I get it. Willow Creek is one of the greenest cities in all of South Carolina. There’s always room for improvement, but we need realistic options. The dairy and cattle ranching industries here provide jobs, homes and food for hundreds of people in our community. Restrictions would do more harm than good. I’d rather see our carbon footprint reduced by encouraging residents to purchase alternate fuel or hybrid vehicles, incentivizing recycling, erecting more solar panels at our schools, planting more trees than we remove and volunteering for and donating to our river and lake cleanup projects. All of which support the community and positively impact the environment.

“Well, then Rusty turned to me and said, ‘Cannon, I didn’t see you there! Still working for that good-for-nothin’ Maxwell?’” He does a spot-on impression of Rusty that’s so good, chuckles sound off throughout the room. “Like we hadn’t just spoken yesterday. When I replied yes, he asked ‘why don’t you join the winning team? I have it on good authority that your boy’s going down.’

“He must work very fast. He basically threatened that a confidential source looking into your campaign had turned up some interesting evidence, and he was writing an exposé that would take you out of the running,” he finishes looking at me apologetically.

“I’m sorry Grayson. I threatened him with a defamation suit if he so much as printed one word of his unsubstantiated story. He just laughed, which really worries me. I’m not sure what he thinks he has on you; it could be anything or nothing. Maybe he’s bluffing to get a reaction. You know, scandal sells. But most likely, it’s a load of lies meant to destroy your reputation.

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