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15
AUSTIN
“Have a seat,” Shankle says.
Interesting. It’s our huge-ass house, and he’s telling us to have a seat.
But Chance obeys him as if the lawyer has him under some kind of thrall.
Miles and I look at each other. He shrugs. I shrug back.
Then we both drop onto the couch facing Shankle. He props his foot up on his knee, relaxed as usual.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Chance says. “We need to have a piece of property appraised and then pay Rick Vance the difference between the fair market value and what my father paid him for it.”
“Who the hell is Rick Vance?” Shankle asks.
“The mayor of Bayfield.”
He pauses a moment and then shakes his head. “Right. Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”
“We know we can’t get our money for a year,” I say, “but can’t we make an exception? The mayor thinks our esteemed father screwed him over, and from the little I know about the asshole, he probably has a case.”
“Rick Vance—hell, the entire city of Bayfield—is the least of your problems right now.” Shankle adjusts his bolo, loosening it as if he’s choking.
“What’s going on?” Miles asks.
“I got a phone call from a source at the DOJ this morning.”
“The Department of Justice?” Miles’s eyes widen.
Shankle nods and then clears his throat so gruffly I’m convinced he’s going to hock a hunk of phlegm right onto the marble coffee table.
“And…?” Miles prods.
Another throat clear. “Apparently your father’s death has put some…things in motion.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I say on a groan.
“Apparently, as long as he was alive,” Shankle continues, “there were certain fail-safes in place. But his death triggered the release of some information that would have been better left buried.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Chance says. “Just what are you getting at?”
“The DOJ has probable cause to believe that your father was involved in some criminal activity, and they’re petitioning to have all of the Bridger assets frozen.”
I drop my jaw.
Miles drops his jaw.
Chance drops his jaw. “You’re kidding, right?”
Shankle leans in and aims his gaze at Chance. “Would I have come out here unannounced if I were kidding?”
“Exactly what type of criminal activity was he involved in?” Miles asks.
“Allegedly involved in,” I remind him, not that I’m on the dead guy’s side. I’ve tried and found my sperm donor guilty in my head. Too bad he’s dead and can’t rot in a prison cell for all the shit he seems to have done.
Shankle coughs into his hand, this time sounding like he’s about to choke up a lung.
