Dennis Lee Arnold knew there were a million and one ways to make a buck. The aftermath of a massive tornado was just one of those ways. After the dust settled and he’d taken stock of his people and more legitimate businesses, Dennis Lee knew now was the time to act. Just how he was going to pull it off was a different question.
He had fifty-two boys and seven or eight girls who worked under him. Off the books, so to speak. Eighty-six others worked for Arnold Industries—legitimately. Supply chain was the game he’d chosen to play from the time he was a boy.
There were many ways a man could go from being a grubby street kid to being one of the wealthiest men in Finley Creek. People listened when he spoke now.
It took skills to be as organized as he was. Skills, and big balls.
Dennis Lee had a nice-sized package, if he did say so himself.
Dennis Lee had started running cons when he was no more than thirteen. Small-time stuff, a bit of a panhandling in Wichita Falls, scams in Dallas, petty thefts in Houston. But Finley Creek was where he had always been the most at home.
Finley Creek was where he kept coming back to roost.
An indirect descendent of the brother-in-law of the man who had founded the county, Dennis Lee had always had the waters of Finley Creek flowing through his blood. He didn’t see that changing some sixty years later.
He had found his way in the world, and his family had wanted for nothing. He took a great deal of pride in that.
He was no Barratt, but Dennis Lee did just fine.
Dennis Lee had learned how to organize men under Uncle Sam’s direction when he’d been all of nineteen years old. It had been jail or the military at the time. Dennis Lee hadn’t figured there was really much of a choice.
He’d only stayed in the navy four years, but those four years had been enough. Dennis Lee had learned what he’d been supposed to learn back then.
And those lessons had stuck with him.
As soon as the storm settled, Dennis Lee grabbed his truck keys. He had people out there. People who would need him. First, his two daughters. Martie and Lea were his girls, his life.
And he’d made certain they were set for life.
It took him far too long to find them, but when he did, they were together, with his four precious grandchildren tucked between them in the storm shelter, and their husbands next to them.
Dennis Lee moved the debris off the top of the shelter he’d paid for himself and let his family out. After hugs and kisses between them, and Dennis Lee making certain Martie understood that the situation was bad and she wasn’t to panic—his older girl had some problems with anxiety—he sent them to his place.
He had work to do.
And his people were starting to come out of the woodwork, looking for his direction. There was money to be made now.
And when it came to cons and shakedowns, Dennis Lee was the man in charge.