Page 108 of Your Every Wish
Bent digs deeper and still nothing. And just when I’m starting to believe the whole thing is a hoax, I see a speck of white, then red. I jump down from the golf cart and run toward Kennedy, Liam, and Misty. They see it, too.
Kennedy and I inch closer to the hole, standing only a breath away from Grotz and Black, who are furiously snapping pictures with their phones. I’m too paralyzed with excitement to follow suit but when I glance behind me, I see that Liam is doing the same. Except he’s using a real camera with a macro lens, the same ones the photographers atSF Voiceuse. He must’ve had it in his backpack because I don’t remember seeing it around his neck.
Bent is uncovering more of the white-and-red object with his shovel and the black outline of something is starting to emerge. Or perhaps it’s just my imagination. There’s still too much dirt to make out exactly what it is. Bent stops the machinery and jumps down, waving us closer.
The agents come right up to the edge of the shallow trench but Bent waits for Kennedy and me before going to the bed of his truck and pulling out a couple of garden-variety shovels, bypassing Grotz’s and Black’s outstretched hands, and giving one to each of us.
The agents start to protest—I’ve seen enough cop shows to know about chain of custody and preserving evidence—but Bent gets in their face. “They’ve done the right thing and called you. Now let them do the honors.” Grotz and Black surprise me by standing down.
Kennedy and I trace the outline of the partially exposed object in the trench, scraping away more dirt with the tips of the shovels. Soon, it becomes apparent that we’d be better off doing it by hand, so we get down on our hands and knees and begin digging with our fingers. I hear Kennedy’s sharp intake of breath.
“I feel the strap,” she says, her voice so soft only I can hear it, even though Grotz and Black are hovering.
With renewed vigor, I brush away as much dirt as I can, exposing an expanse of black leather. “It’s the bag. Black, white, and red.” Just like Misty said.
Soon, we’re pushing and pulling on it to pry it loose from the ground but it’s so heavy we can’t move it. The FBI agents pitch in and between the four of us we’re able to stand it upright. The top of the bag has a divider where the clubs go. Each one is stuffed with bills, so many bills I can’t count them, let alone make out a denomination.
My whole body is drumming with excitement. I grab onto Kennedy and in turn she grabs onto me. I think we’re both hyperventilating.
Special Agent Grotz pries off the top divider and some of the bills spill out onto the ground. I’m too dazed to scoop them up and even if I wasn’t, I doubt the agents would let me. They ask for us to back away so they can secure the scene.
Kennedy reaches in her pocket for the key and points to a compartment on the front of the golf bag. “This will probably open that.”
One of the agents takes it and tries it on the pocket’s lock, which appears more decorative than useful. Furthermore, the pocket isn’t any larger than a small clutch purse. It takes the agent a few seconds of finessing the key before the lock finally pops open.
The other agent repeats that we need to move away. But before I do, I get a good look inside the now open compartment and spy dozens of light blue casino chips.
I gaze over at Kennedy, who sees them, too. A huge smile spreads across her face.
* * *
Later, when we’re all at Misty’s house, Misty crows about how she called it, about how she was right all along.
“How much do you think is there?” I ask.
“More than a million for sure.” Kennedy grins. “Those blue poker chips are worth a hundred grand each.”
I gasp. That didn’t even count the bills stuffed inside the actual golf bag. Leave it to Willy to leave us money in poker chips.
“Why do you think he went to all the trouble of leaving us the key? That compartment in the bag could’ve been pried open by a toddler.”
“I think it was mostly ceremonial, Willy being Willy,” Kennedy says. “But shouldn’t we have gotten a receipt?”
Kennedy’s right—in the aftermath of everything that’s happened, we may have made a few blunders. The agents whisked the bag away so quickly, we never got a chance to ask for a full accounting. Or to ask what happens next.
“We’ll call Mr. Townsend in the morning. He’ll be able to get answers.” I’m still overwhelmed by it all, and will be sharper tomorrow.
What is clear today, though, is that Kennedy will never get the money in time for Monday.
* * *
“You knew it was there all along, didn’t you?” It’s the first time Liam and I are alone today and the first chance I’ve had to confront him about what I saw out there.
It happened on Wednesday, when we came up empty-handed during the first dig. I watched him, which I find myself doing a lot these days—but that’s another story—and he wasn’t at all surprised when we didn’t find the bag. In fact, he spent a lot of time with his face buried in his phone. I only caught a quick glance of what he was looking at, but it appeared to be a diagram.
And when Misty directed us to the real spot, I saw Liam visibly grow animated. He knew it was there, I could feel it. The question is how, and why didn’t he tell us?
Liam stares down at his feet.
