JOSÉ TREVIÑO HAD MADE A DEAL WITH DOUG GARDNER AND MICHELLE FERNALD not to sell his most prized horses until it was certain he was going to prison. Prior to the trial he had still believed he had a chance of walking out of the courthouse a free man. With the five horses, including Tempting Dash, Dashin Follies, and Mr. Piloto, he could easily rebuild his horse-racing empire. But it hadn’t worked out that way. He’d gotten twenty years instead. And now the last of the Treviños’ horses would be sold to the highest bidder.
It would be a historic event. Not often did horses of this caliber get offered up at auction, and never all at the same time. Present at Heritage Place on November 1, 2013, were some of America’s most prominent quarter horse racing legends, including the now eighty-year-old Charles “Doc” Graham in his signature tan Stetson. Wealthy Latin Americans and horse agents representing some of the industry’s biggest U.S. buyers circulated through the packed sales arena among the curious who’d come to have a look at the “Zeta horses” from the news. It was hard for Lawson not to notice the young guys in rhinestone Ed Hardy baseball caps and jeans or leather Ferrari jackets, making hushed phone calls in Spanish on their Nextels. He knew that the Ferrari symbol had been adopted by the Zetas, since the sleek sports car was one of Miguel’s favorites.
Lawson watched a groom lead the spirited Mr. Piloto around the sales ring. Perez had stayed back in Laredo. She’d already spent too many months away from her family. Lawson wished she could have made it. This would be the finale of their investigation—their final chapter. Lawson wore a tan blazer to conceal his holstered Glock. The last of the horses up for auction, including Tempting Dash, were among Miguel Treviño’s most prized possessions. And just because Miguel was in a Mexican prison didn’t mean he no longer held any power. Lawson knew that with Miguel’s millions, he could buy almost anything, even his freedom. Many kingpins before him had run their operations from inside prison; some, like the Sinaloa leader Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán, had even “miraculously” escaped. He figured a man as ruthless as Miguel was capable of anything. And his brother Omar was still at large in Mexico and running the cartel now in his absence. They might send a sicario to settle scores. Or any number of Miguel’s enemies might try to buy Tempting Dash and the other horses, to taunt the kingpin, inciting more death and destruction.
Tyler Graham stood not far from Lawson appraising the horses in the sales ring. They made eye contact and Graham nodded. But he kept his distance. He looked calm as usual, but Lawson knew he had much on his mind. If Miguel and his brothers would exact their revenge on anyone it would be Graham. Lawson, Pennington, and the rest of his task force were keeping a close eye on him and his grandfather. Lawson had established an easy rapport with Graham after working with him for two years, but he also realized it was not a friendship but a partnership, forged out of necessity.
Brian Schutt along with some deputies from Waco whom Pennington had enlisted for extra security were camped out in folding chairs in front of Dashin Follies’s stall. They worried the horses might be stolen by Treviño’s men. To an outsider, the group looked like authentic horsemen in their cowboy hats and worn boots. But to regular auctiongoers they were known as the “boys from the IRS.” As Jeff Tebow, the manager of Heritage Place, had warned Pennington during his first visit so many months ago, “There are no secrets at the racetrack.” Soon enough, he had discovered there were no secrets at Heritage Place either. Not that they didn’t want their presence known: they hoped they were enough of an armed deterrent to prevent any cartel operative from making a bid. Steve Junker couldn’t hide the urban cop that he was, as he scanned the crowd looking for anything unusual. Kim Williams, who walked alongside him in her beat-up cowboy boots, made a more convincing horse enthusiast.
On the other side of the sales ring from Lawson stood Steve Pennington. It would be his job to vet any of the winning bidders on the horses and make sure they hadn’t inadvertently been sold back to the Zetas or some other cartel. It had taken painstaking years to uncover and document how the horses had been bought through a sophisticated network of straw buyers. With José’s trial, they’d sent a message to the cartel world. But looking around at the groups of men in leather Ferrari jackets and rhinestone-studded jeans texting and photographing the horses up for bid, it was tough to say that their message had been received. If there was anything that Pennington had learned in his long career, it was that criminals had short memories. And as long as there were billions in black market proceeds, they’d always be looking for places to wash it clean.
The auctioneer announced it was time to start the bidding for Tempting Dash. Lawson noticed that Graham had moved in close to where the auctioneer stood on an elevated platform above the sales ring. But this time there was no horse being paraded around the ring. Because of his contagious blood disease, Tempting Dash had to remain under quarantine back at the Southwest Stallion Station in Texas. The bidders would have to settle instead for two large screens that displayed photos of the champion stallion, alongside his race wins and earnings, as the auctioneer began the bidding.
Pennington and the rest of the task force had also drawn near to see what would happen. Tempting Dash had generated the most media coverage and the most attention of any of the horses throughout the long trial. For José and his brothers, the horse was a talisman, the foundation of Tremor Enterprises and the legacy they had built before it had all come crashing down in the early morning raid.
Tyler Graham stood at the edge of the sales ring, his grandfather behind him, towering over him. Lawson had noticed the two in close conversation before the start of the bidding, which had made him suspicious. He didn’t like surprises. Industry veterans had told him the stallion would be the sales topper of the two-day auction, maybe even of the year. The bids kept spiraling higher and higher, some of the winks and nods so subtle it was difficult for the untrained eye to tell who was bidding. But now Lawson could see that it was Doc Graham and Tyler who were bidding for the stallion, and the sum was already near the million-dollar mark. Lawson thought it was a reckless move, especially when Graham was already on Miguel Treviño’s list for retribution.
Graham had never mentioned to Lawson that he planned to bid on Tempting Dash. Now he worried that Pennington and the others would think he’d withheld the information from them. He couldn’t believe Graham’s nerve. Maybe the breeder believed the horse was his due. Tempting Dash had been with him for nearly three years, and the horse had brought a newfound prestige to his farm. Though there was no denying the horse’s value, the six-year-old stallion had also brought him a lot of grief.
As the bidding went higher and higher, Lawson was playing through in his mind all of the potentially bad things that could happen if Graham and his grandfather prevailed. But then he noticed a look of anger come over Doc Graham’s face, and the old man turned away from the ring. Tyler Graham stood there silently, watching, now just a spectator like everyone else. The bidding had reached $1.7 million and the auctioneer, nearly breathless with excitement, announced the winning buyer, John Simmons. Lawson felt nothing but relief. The Grahams had lost Tempting Dash to a Texas investment manager.
The $1.7 million price tag for Tempting Dash was the most ever paid for an American quarter horse at public auction. José’s other horses had gone for much less than Lawson had expected. Without the inflated prices that had been so common when José’s crew was selling and buying horses to one another, the bids had gone back to a more realistic level. Dashin Follies, which José had purchased for $875,000, was sold for $260,000 to a Brazilian rancher, and Mr. Piloto got a paltry $85,000, surprisingly low for the winner of the prestigious All American Futurity. No doubt revelations about race fixing during the trial had something to do with the horse’s deflated price.
Much to the team’s relief, the last of the cartel’s horses had been sold without incident. Maybe their presence at the auction had tamped down any plans for vengeance, or maybe the backlash from the Treviños and the Zetas was too high a price to pay for any Mexican bidder. Miguel Treviño was behind bars but he wasn’t out of the game. And Omar was still on the run. The team had stopped the family’s money laundering scheme. But they knew the fast and loose world of quarter horse racing was still too much of a temptation for anyone with millions to launder. And that someday soon they might be back again at Heritage Place.
But first they would celebrate. Lawson needed to feel some kind of closure after three years. He drove with Pennington and a couple of the deputies from the task force to a cavernous nightclub in downtown Oklahoma City called Cowboys. It was a Wednesday night but the place was nearly full. The bar had a bull-riding ring next to the dance floor, for patrons who preferred to cheat death on a live bull rather than risk a two-step. As Lawson and Pennington stood at the edge of the dance floor, a hostess brought them a round of drinks. The two men scanned the bar, looking for who might have sent drinks to two off-duty federal agents. Then Lawson noticed Tyler Graham standing in a dark corner nearby, surrounded by a group of friends drinking and laughing. Lawson wasn’t surprised that Graham was celebrating too. The investigation was finally over and José and Miguel were in jail. In the end Graham had lost Tempting Dash, but he’d had a good run while it lasted, and now he was finally free of Lawson and the FBI. Lawson supposed that he’d never had any illusions about the world—Doc Graham had made sure of that. Neither did he, not anymore. He made his way over to Graham, who raised his beer in a toast as he drew near.
“I just want to thank you for everything,” Lawson said, shaking his hand. “We did it.”
“Yeah, we did.” Graham smiled and took a draw off his beer. “We sure as hell did.”