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Thomas Brady drove from his office to the main building, then marched into the family’s executive suite as though he owned the place, his boots making a fine sound on the polished wood floor. Fake it ’til you make it, was a motto he lived by. And he was the best. This farm would sink into obscurity without him.
And these people—he glanced at the three siblings who were already seated on fine leather chairs—they were nothing in the breeding industry without him. He’d made them successful and now everyone knew their names.
But not as well as they knew his.
He was always careful to take first billing. He snickered to himself. Unless it was a real bill. His name never went on those.
The uppity bookkeeper dealt with anything needing to be paid. Thomas made the decisions, and the minions carried out his orders.
Sour faces in here today though. What the fuck was up with that?
Careful, he thought. Must be careful to sound as polished as the bluebloods in the room. They’d inherited their wealth, never worked a day in their lives. Well, the brother supposedly ran a few of their companies, but likely only as a figurehead. And the two women were all about proper clothing and manners. He bet they’d faint if he said, “fuck”. Polite and correct was the norm within these walls, and if nothing else, Thomas knew playing the game required several different sets of rules. His and theirs. In here, it was theirs.
“Good afternoon,” he addressed the group, making careful eye contact with the man, who liked to lead the meetings, the two sisters, and the tight-assed lawyer seated behind the huge desk. “You did say two o’clock and it’s only quarter to.” He’d seen them arrive almost an hour ago. “I’d have come sooner if I’d known you wanted an earlier start.”
“We had a prior meeting, Mr. Brady. About how to handle the problem.”
“What problem? I know of nothing wrong.” And why the fuck was the lawyer doing the talking? Chill, I have to chill. Maybe it was a money thing, and therefore, none of his business.
“Mr. Brady, it’s a problem of your creating. By pre-selling a colt at the summer sale, you’ve put us in a tenuous position.”
Fuck. “Pre-selling? I don’t understand.” That bastard went around him for the rest of his money.
“The gentleman who paid you money up front, for a horse he never got delivery of, came to us for the balance of his refund. You do realize, I’m sure, that what you did was against the law? As well as reneging on a contract with the first gentleman, you broke the contract this farm signed with the sales company.”
He could point out that he’d signed nothing, ever. And the guy squawking about his money would be dead before he could spend any of it. Of that he’d make sure.
“I broke no law. I set up a transaction that would make everyone take a second look at your colt. Your breeding program, your stallion, and the name of your farm are now being viewed as a force to be reckoned with. You’re getting the respect you deserve, and the colt is going to be so successful you’ll have a full book for your stallion next spring, and your yearlings will be accepted into the select sales.” He waited a beat because timing counted. “You’re telling me you have a problem with that?”
The sister with the nose that looked like a ski jump, said, “It was sneaky and underhanded.”
“The horse business sometimes appears that way to outsiders. But, those on the inside know the score.”
“I have spoken with a select few people in the T Club, and their opinions are dramatically different from yours.”
“The T Club? What the—” He cleared his throat. “That’s where people like you can go and be civilized, wear pretty dresses and expensive suits, eat caviar and drink champagne, but the people in there know nothing of how this industry really works. They’re insulated from reality.”
The lawyer took another turn at him. “There is room for legal action here, Mr. Brady, unless this is handled with the utmost care.”
Threats? Turn it back on him. “I understand litigation is your business, but I don’t think there’s any worry here from other directions. The farm is doing well, bookings are up, money was made at the sale, and the one person who was slightly disgruntled when things beyond my control changed, is being handled. I don’t think this one small complication should be viewed in such a harsh light.” He held up his hand and met the gaze of each and every one of them directly.
“Let me just say that if you have a problem with my methods, I am more than willing to eliminate this practice in the future. It is smart business, but not everyone wants to see the lines pushed to their limit. I understand your views completely.” He put on his most sincere smile. “I hope that clears things up for you as I have some exciting news to share.”
He watched the faces of the two women. One thought he was dirt beneath her feet. The other... Perhaps he should cultivate something with her. He’d need to refill his prescription because she was butt ugly, but she had big tits and was probably virgin-tight, so he’d at least get off, and then maybe she’d smooth things out with the family.
“There’s still a matter of the money to be reimbursed.” The lawyer wasn’t going to be distracted as easily.
Brady addressed the brother. “I’ve paid the man more than half already—out of my own funds you will note. If you’d feel better having him paid off completely and wish to write him a check, I’d be happy to make payments to you.”
“That could be a workable solution for my family, but there is also the matter of funds we were forced to redirect to the detective agency,” said the snotty bitch.
“For what?” Fuck, did he have enough cash on him to disappear as soon as this meeting was over?
“The gentleman claimed he’d paid for one of our horses and had not taken possession of said horse, nor had he been refunded his money. As we’d had no prior business with him it was necessary to investigate the situation and ascertain his credibility.”
“Of course. But had you come to me, I could have straightened everything out and you wouldn’t have wasted money on some hole-in-the-wall private eye.”
“We used a nationally recognized agency, Mr. Brady. One so thorough, we were advised to investigate you as well, but as we’d taken those steps prior to your employment, we determined it would be redundant.”
“Well then, thank you for your support. And I’m glad we’ve had a chance to clear the air. Although, I hope from now on that you’ll come to me if there is ever anything you’re unsure of. You know I’m an open book about anything except my decisions about which bloodlines to cross.”
There was murmuring while he shook each hand, and he even made the homely woman smile when he slid his fingertips across her palm.
Yeah, he thought as he beat a path to his own office, she’d be easy to get into the sack.
#
Thomas didn’t like heat, and he was feeling it. He was ready to run, but that would screw up everything. He had three options. He could stay and pretend everything was fine. He could stay and fuck the ugly sister. Or he could run.
What he wanted to do was beat someone senseless, and as much as he wanted the fucker who’d caused all the trouble dead, he couldn’t take that chance right now. He couldn’t risk putting himself in the spotlight that way.
Precautions. He needed to build in some security, and fucking one of the sisters should give him that. Hell, if he could keep her happy, maybe she’d be good for extra cash, too.
Cash was always the key. He tapped the pocket where he always had the small notebook filled with phone numbers, which were really his cleverly hidden bank codes and account information.
Being a smart man meant spreading his money around to places where he could access it easily without raising any red flags. He visited ten different banks at least once a month, moving his money from one safety deposit box to another. For the last few years, he’d mostly been adding money. He’d been doing well—very well—and whenever he went out of town he took a wad of cash and left it in a nice secure place.
He counted the keys on his ring because that was almost as much fun as counting money. Each key represented at least fifty thousand dollars. Money that could never be traced to where he’d gotten it. He was proud of the fact that all his cash was clean and if he ever needed to run, he could put his hands on a bundle in any one of twelve different cities around the US, and a couple in Canada.
Worried now that there was a chance—albeit a slim one—that he’d have to run sooner than later, he drove to the local bank, accessed his security box, and slipped fifty grand into his briefcase. No point leaving it here in Lexington if there was a chance he’d never be able to come back. Best he find an excuse to go to Churchill Downs tomorrow so he could get his Louisville funds as well, because if there came a time when he had to leave where he was, it would mean that all of Kentucky would be off limits for him. At least for a while because weren’t people stupid after all? They’d forget, he’d come back, and the gravy train would be up and running again.
The big question, was where would he go this time? Hell, maybe it was time to dust off an old passport and make a trip across the pond. Or maybe he’d head north.
The back of his neck tingled and he looked all around. What were the chances he was being watched? The talk of them using a detective agency had made him edgy.
But he was covered.
Maybe he’d wait a few days before he went for the other money. Lay low. Find a way to stir up the ugly woman.
He swung into the drugstore parking lot, yanked his phone from his pocket and called in a prescription refill. Fuck, it wouldn’t be ready for an hour. It pissed him off to be packing that much cash and having to cool his heels. Maybe he’d come back tomorrow. Or he could grab a drink, maybe even a meal, if his stomach chilled soon.
He grabbed the briefcase and sauntered across to a bar he’d never been in, and that was a rarity. It looked like all the others inside. Dark. Lots of glass and mirrors.
The bartender looked up when the door closed with a bang, and a server, wearing a crotch-skimming skirt and a much smaller top, waved him in. “Grab a seat. What can I get you?”
“Scotch, rocks. Hold the ice.”
She grinned. “Funny guy.” She stood at the bar while the drink was poured, then brought it over. Wiped a cloth across the table before dropping a coaster and setting the glass on it. “Six-fifty.”
He blinked. “The fuck?”
She laughed. “Gotcha. Three bucks. Ya wanna run a tab?”
He passed her a five-dollar bill. “Only stayin’ for one.”
She put the change on the table. “That’s what they all say.”
He glanced at his watch. “You do food here?”
“Burgers, fries, pickled eggs, pepperoni.”
“Burger. Well-done. Hold all the crap. Just ketchup and mustard.”
“You got it.”
He checked out the other three customers. Nobody looked his way. The couple was having a heated, but quiet argument, and the guy in the corner looked like he’d been there a week or two. Good. Nothing to worry about while he waited for his script.
Now he just needed to figure out how to get to the ugly broad.