Luke smiled. He could always count on his dad. “I did a little research. It costs them twenty-five to thirty thousand to train a dog.”
“You don’t say? And they use female inmates to train them? I have to wonder about our correctional institutions’ intentions when they reward dope peddlers with participation in such a program.”
“Oh no. Dad, don’t even think about it.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“I know you. You’re thinking about how to leverage a donation to make trouble for Jori Garrison.”
Luke stood up, a frown on his handsome face. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Leave her out of any plans you have to help me. I’ve got this covered.” He looked at his watch. “I got to go. Erin’s meeting me for lunch at Bordino’s over in Fayetteville.”
“You should take her by a jewelry shop afterward, offer her the bauble of her choice if she’ll come down with the flu just before the wedding. Always soothed troubled waters with your mother.”
“Subject closed, Dad. You’ll see. It’ll be a goodwill opportunity.”
Harold stood by the window of his office after his son had gone. Even the hand-tailoring of his suits couldn’t completely disguise the silhouette of the raw-boned Arkie fieldworker he’d begun his working life as.
The Tices had what Arkansans referred to as “plenty of money.” But Grandpa Tice, the founder of Tice Industries, believed that money, while a good thing to accumulate in a bank, was the root of all evil if a man didn’t earn it himself. So, like his father and grandfather before him, Harold had begun his working life as a wildcatter in the oil fields of west Texas and Oklahoma before coming to work for the family business.
And in the process, Harold had begun his side business by delivering nickel and dime bags of pleasure to rigs and oil platforms. It wasn’t legal but, hell, every man worth his salt got his hands dirty while making a fortune, be it digging for gold, diamonds, or crude, or mining men’s darkest impulses.
Once in charge of Tice Industries, he’d kept that secret side of the business going by using Tice Trucking Company to act as deliverymen. He didn’t buy or sell, he delivered drugs from point A to point B, for cash. No questions asked. Business had never been better.
Harold reached for his e-cigar, a recent gift from his wife. The weight, balance, and paper gave it the feel of reality. It even tasted, after a few puffs, like a real cigar. But it didn’t have the tactile smoky appeal of a real Cohiba.
He took a puff, exhaling a long but not-quite-satisfied breath. Some things changed. But not all for the good.
He hadn’t insisted that Luke work in the backbreaking industry that had forged his ancestors. Instead, he had sent him directly to college and then law school. Most times that seemed like a good decision. But today, when his son admitted he couldn’t completely control his wife, he was having second thoughts. A man who hadn’t dealt with the hard realities of life was more likely to make careless mistakes.
Harold pulled at his top lip with his fingers. He’d made a few errors of judgment in his life. Point of fact, Brody Rogers.
He’d been grooming his wife’s sister’s son to take part in the family business, freeing Luke to concentrate on building his way into political office. But the damn fool Brody started enjoying his insider position too much. Thought he didn’t have to answer to anyone. Got reckless. Selling drugs to college frat boys!
If Brody hadn’t died in the auto accident that brought that fact to life, he might have throttled his nephew himself.
Harold squashed a twinge of conscience over Brody. His sister-in-law still couldn’t mention her son without crying. Luke and Brody had once been as close as brothers, until the natural rivalry that often develops between male relatives came between them. Still, he could feel his blood pressure rise each time Brody’s name was mentioned. The damn fool had exposed them to some very unwelcome scrutiny.
Now the ghost of Brody was rearing its head in the form of Jori Garrison.
Harold dropped his e-cigar back in its useless silver ashtray. A man couldn’t cover every eventuality, but he could move like lightning once a possibility presented itself.
This wedding was a media disaster in the making. His top priority was putting his son in a state senator’s seat. That meant he’d have to pave the way. And paving couldn’t be done without removing obstacles in the path. If Luke couldn’t see that, then he had no alternative but to act for him.
Smiling, Harold reached for his phone. Jori Garrison was thinking about not attending the wedding. A possibility had presented itself.
The secret to successful manipulation was to nudge along events that might have taken place naturally. That way the pawn would swear, if asked, that it was her idea.
“Erin. It’s your favorite father-in-law. How’s your husband’s campaign coming along?”