“Grace,” Presley said with an eye roll.
“Grace is worried that they won’t be able to get home during the storm, so they should pack a bag and stay the night.”
“Good, but still, why would both of them need to go?”
How the hell did he know that? He was divorced, he would have used any excuse to get away from his wife. Maybe George Coulter was the same way, leave the wife at home and help his daughter. Tom didn’t know these people—he’d moved up here from Houston two years ago to work for Verdacorp. He’d quickly put the farm outside Willis that he’d grown up on in the rearview mirror as soon as he turned eighteen and got his first job in the city. He hated country living.
“Family dinner,” he said. “Her husband is Chris, their kids are little, like eight and six. They would love to see their grandma and grandpa. That’ll work.”
“Do they call them Grandma and Grandpa? Because I called my grandpa Papa, so that’s kinda important.”
Again with the eye roll and attitude. How did Mitchell put up with this shit?
Well, maybe because Presley was his only kid. A spoiled daddy’s girl who could do no wrong.
She sighed, typed rapidly on her computer.
“I got it. Grace and Chris have two boys, C. J. and Frankie.” She scrolled, reading rapidly, a half smile on her face. “God, these people! They post everything online. Their lives are a fucking open book.”
“Do you even need me?”
“Well, duh, as soon as I’m done, you’re going to have to make sure they’re gone. I’d send out my drone, but not in this weather. It cost over ten thousand dollars.”
Spoiled. Rotten. Brat.
Tom just nodded. “Okay.”
“Grandpa and Mimi.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, popped her gum.
Her neck looked good enough to strangle.
A minute later she abruptly sat up. She put on headphones, plugged her phone into her computer, typed on the keyboard.
This wasn’t the first time that Presley had called someone using an AI voice modulator, so they thought they were talking to someone else. All she had needed was a sample of the subject’s voice, and AI did the rest.
It was fascinating, and damn scary. Tom made sure his son knew that if he ever called asking for help or money or for him to do something completely out of character, that he needed to hang up and call him directly. Presley and other scammers could clone the number, fake the voice, but they couldn’t reroute a phone call.
Yet. He was certain if it was possible, Presley would figure it out. Why couldn’t she use her power for good?
Because she’s Mitchell Robinson’s spawn, he thought.
Presley drank half her Red Bull, then typed on the keyboard. Tom couldn’t hear the Coulters’ end of the conversation, only what Presley said.
“Hi, Mom,” Presley said. “How are you?… Stew? Sounds great. Yeah… Well, I have a little problem. Chris had to go down to Conroe and help his parents, and I got into a fender bender… I’m fine, the boys are fine, but my car can’t be driven, and C. J. has indoor soccer early tomorrow morning. I know how much you like to watch the games… No, I don’t want you getting up at four to come, it’s a mess up there. Is there any way you can come down tonight? I’m making my famous lasagna!… Ask Daddy,please?”
Presley looked at Tom and winked. A half minute later, she said, “Hi, Daddy! Did Mom tell you?… Yes, I promise, we’re not hurt at all. I mean my wrist is a little sore, but it’ll be fine… The boys would love to see you… I don’t want you coming down if it’s already pouring up there… Really?… Sure, stay theweekend! Chris won’t be back until Sunday night… Great. I can’t wait. Love you, Daddy!”
She hit a button on the computer and laughed.
“That wassoeasy! They want to leave within the hour to make it out before the roads close. Even said they should have thought of it before!”
“They have two bulls. They have no one to feed them.”
Presley shrugged. “They’ll figure it out.” She waved him away. “Go, watch their place, call when they leave.”
Tom got up and left. Dammit, this wasn’t going to work. They’d call the McKennas, most likely, the oldest kid usually came over to help when they needed it. But… that should be okay, he thought as he crossed through the large foyer to Mitchell’s office. The bulls would already be secured in the barn, so Jake or Ellen wouldn’t go over until morning.
By then, they’d have the contract and no one would be the wiser.
