AFTER THE HERITAGE PLACE WINTER AUCTION, GRAHAM HAULED BLUES Ferrari and the other horses José had bought at auction back to his farm in Elgin. It had been more than a year since he’d first met José Treviño at Lone Star Park in Grand Prairie, when Tempting Dash had set a track record and caught the industry’s imagination.
The breeding of the champion had not been as smooth as he’d hoped. Not long after arriving at the farm, the stallion was diagnosed with a rare blood-borne disease called piroplasmosis, which the vet surmised had probably been transmitted from a contaminated needle or another infected horse. The news was a shock for José. The most valuable horse he owned was now under quarantine. The Texas Animal Health Commission had banned Tempting Dash from the racetrack to avoid infecting other racehorses with the disease. The champion stallion, the cornerstone of Tremor Enterprises, would never race again.
José wanted to bribe the commission to lift the quarantine. “What if we gave them a couple hundred thousand to forget the whole thing?” he told Graham.
But Graham said they had no choice but to obey the commission’s ruling. The horse was still a champion. The disease didn’t change that. But now the best José could hope for was that the stallion could still be bred.
Within days, José sent a worker to Graham’s farm to load Tempting Dash into a trailer. He wouldn’t tell him where he was sending the horse. Graham couldn’t help but wonder if the horse would be hauled south to Mexico and Miguel.
Graham was angry he’d lost Tempting Dash—the champion sire that was going to put his family’s stud farm back in business. Now the horse was gone and he was still ensnared in José’s operation, which had at least forty horses at his farm.
Carlos Nayen was still in charge of the rapidly growing expenses for everything from horse shoeing to boarding and breeding. But the payments came in fits and starts. Sometimes it was cash, other times by wire from ADT Petroservicios or Grupo Aduanero Integral in Veracruz. Nayen was also instructing Graham to list the horses and their accounts under various owners’ names, including Hernando Guerra, Francisco Colorado, and Pedro Alcala. Nayen and Garcia also continued to change the horses’ names to new monikers that weren’t exactly subtle, like Forty Force, Break Out the Bullets, and Number One Cartel.
Graham noticed that the various owners listed never visited his farm. But José showed up weekly to check on the horses, ask questions, and make sure everything was running smoothly. His path seldom crossed with Nayen’s, whom he seemed barely able to tolerate. Graham’s dealings with Nayen were also becoming frayed. The ballooning debt was becoming a constant point of contention between them. “I’m not a bank,” Graham would often remind him. “I’ve got to be paid for my services.”
LAWSON STILL HADN’T BROUGHT up the DEA’s bank account to Graham. He could sense that Graham was on edge and growing weary of their arrangement. Graham had recently married his high school sweetheart and had more to worry about now than just himself.
So when Lawson saw the DEA’s number come up on his office phone, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. He’d been avoiding Hathaway since before Christmas, while he and Perez worked on the Title 3. But now he would have to give him an update, and there was little to report.
He picked up the handset. “How’s it going?” he said.
Hathaway got straight to it. “Me and Rene are going to Elgin tomorrow to get Tyler Graham to sign up with us.”
The information was like a kick in the gut. He knew Hathaway was bold, but he’d never imagined he’d roll right over him. “If you want to talk to him you need to talk to me first,” he said. “We can set up a meeting with him at our office. That’s the way the protocol works.”
“Look, the way we see it, the guy is indictable. You need to push him harder, tap his phone, make him use the bank account we set up, or else,” said Hathaway.
“You can’t pull this bullshit,” Lawson said.
They were going to play rough with Graham to get him to cooperate. But Lawson doubted the aggressive move would work. There was little they could indict him on. It would be too difficult to prove to a judge that Graham had prior knowledge of whom he was getting involved with when he’d agreed to bid for José at that first Heritage Place auction. Lawson had seen the look on his face when they’d first met and he’d brought up the Zetas. Graham had had no idea who was pulling the levers behind José.
“He’s not going to talk to you,” Lawson said. Before Hathaway could answer, he slammed the phone down, walked back to Villarreal’s office, and knocked on the door. When he told Villarreal about the call, his boss looked like he might break something too. Then he reached for his phone. Lawson knew Villarreal was working up a righteous fury that would soon be unleashed on Hathaway’s boss upstairs.
While Villarreal traded harsh words with the DEA, Lawson dialed Graham to warn him about the impending visit to his farm. He had no choice but to try to head off the two DEA agents and salvage their agreement.
Graham answered after the second ring. “What’s going on?” he said in his typical laid-back style.
“Look, there’s something that’s come up.” Lawson knew he sounded tense and he tried to relax. He didn’t want to alarm Graham, but it was hard to contain the mixture of panic and anger welling up inside of him. His worst fear was coming true. The DEA was going to hijack Graham, and without him Lawson didn’t have a case.
“What is it?” Graham said, his tone turning more serious now.
“There’s two DEA agents that are going to show up at your ranch tomorrow. They want to flip you so you work for them. You’re a grown man—you do what you want to do—but I suggest you don’t answer the door.”
Graham was quiet for a moment, taking it all in. “I won’t,” he said finally. “I don’t plan on changing our arrangement.”
“That’s good to hear,” Lawson said.
Graham thanked him for the warning, then hung up the phone.
All that Lawson could do now was wait. He buried himself in the facts of the case and tried not to think about the DEA knocking on Graham’s door. He’d been working the investigation for little more than a year. With the help of Hodge and Perez he’d been able to navigate the surveillance warrants, the 1023 reports, and other paperwork they needed to build a prosecutable case. They had a growing list of suspects that included Francisco Colorado, Alfonso del Rayo, and Alejandro Barradas, who were wiring money from Mexico or writing personal checks to pay for the horses. He had the photos of Carlos Nayen, Fernando Garcia, José, and his crew at the All American. He’d also done surveillance at auctions at Heritage Place, tracing the horses through the various LLCs and straw buyers back to José. All of it pointed to a rapidly growing money laundering conspiracy.
Lawson scarcely slept that night, and he tried to keep himself busy with other work until late in the afternoon, when he finally phoned Graham.
He didn’t bother with a greeting. “So did you answer the door?” he asked, trying to sound casual even though the entire investigation was riding on Graham’s answer.
“I’ve been gone all day,” Graham said. “I’m not even at the farm.”
Lawson relaxed with the good news. “Hey, can you meet me at the Omni Hotel in a week . . . maybe Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Graham said. “But let me check with my secretary first. I’ll get back to you.”
Lawson was comforted that Graham had stuck with him, but he also knew that their partnership had already been strained before the incident with the DEA, which had only jeopardized it further. He was going to have to work to rebuild the trust between them. Establishing rapport with a source and then keeping them close was something they couldn’t teach you at Quantico. You had to learn it through trial and error. But losing Graham was not a risk he could afford to take. He needed to see him face-to-face and dispel any second thoughts the horse breeder might be having about working with the FBI.
THE LOBBY OF THE Omni Hotel in downtown Austin was filled with women and men in business suits, wearing conference badges on lanyards and hauling roller bags. It was about as anonymous a meeting place as an airport, which was why Lawson had chosen it. Inside the cavernous and sun-filled glass atrium lobby, it was nearly impossible to overhear the conversation of a neighboring table among the potted plants and din of dozens of conversations all taking place at once.
Graham sat down across from Lawson in one of the hotel’s overstuffed chairs and ordered an iced tea from the cocktail waitress, since it was early afternoon. After they were done, he’d have a forty-five-minute drive back to the farm. Lawson ordered the same.
“Thanks for coming down,” Lawson said.
“Did I have a choice?” Graham said.
Lawson and Hodge had brought Ernie Elizondo, one of the task force officers, along with them to the meeting. Elizondo sat to the side of Lawson pouring packets of Sweet’N Low into his iced tea while Lawson did the talking. Hodge sat next to Graham.
“The DEA thinks you’re indictable,” Lawson said. “Their plan was to make you work for them, or they’d threaten you with an indictment. So you’re lucky you’re with us. We’re not going to go down that road.”
“What the fuck?” Graham said, slamming his iced tea down on the table. “You don’t think I haven’t spoken with my attorneys? I know I’m not indictable!”
Lawson noticed the cocktail waitress look in their direction, and he instinctively moved closer to the table. Elizondo pulled his chair in too, as if trying to minimize the collateral zone for an impending explosion.
“Don’t get all twisted,” Lawson said, lowering his voice. “I’m telling you, we got your back. But we’re also doing you a favor.”
Graham’s face flushed with anger. “Shit,” he said, shaking his head. “You think I’m doing this because I’m scared of an indictment? I’m doing this because I messed up, and I wanted to make amends.”
“And I’m telling you we got your back.” Lawson’s voice was getting louder now as he grew angry. This wasn’t how he’d planned the conversation to go. He’d thought Graham would be thankful that they were looking out for him, and it would help shore up any misgivings between them. But Lawson hadn’t accounted for the rich-boy entitlement to kick in. The way Graham looked at it, he was doing the FBI a favor, not the other way around.
“Anyone want more iced tea?” Hodge asked, trying to cut through the mounting tension. The cocktail waitress hovered nearby with a half-filled pitcher of iced tea, looking nervous.
“Yeah, I could use some,” Lawson said, thankful for the diversion. He realized he’d let the conversation get out of hand and now he needed to do damage control before Graham walked out the door. “Look, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done,” he said. “And I want us to keep working together.”
Graham sat back in his chair and looked off in the distance. Lawson followed his gaze to a TV screen showing a football game near the bar. He knew Graham was taking his time, using the same hard-nosed tactics he’d learned from his grandfather, before he gave him an answer. If he wanted to play tough, Lawson thought, he’d remind Graham of the agreement he’d signed.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Graham said, turning back toward Lawson finally. “Don’t worry about it.”
“All right, so we’re good?” Lawson said.
“Yeah.” Graham nodded. “I guess I better be getting back to work.” He stood up. Lawson stood also and held his hand out, and they shook hands awkwardly. Then Graham nodded to Hodge and Elizondo, who also got up from their chairs. They remained standing and watched as Graham walked toward the exit and through the glass revolving door to the street outside.
“Well, that went well,” Elizondo said with a wry smile.