Betting on Hope

Chapter 28



While Hope spent her Sunday mourning her losses, Tanner spent most of his Sunday in the beige conference room of Las Vegas’s FBI bureau. He had never gone to bed after the card game, and he was now officially too tired to move. His eyes felt full of sand, and his muscles weighed too much to move. In an effort to stay awake, he’d checked out the vending machine down the hall and tried the vile swill they called coffee. The foul brew, which had to have been boiling in that vending machine for at least two years, had tasted bitter when he swallowed it and sat like a furious porcupine in his belly ever since, stabbing his guts with bilious darts.

Or maybe that was just the fear he’d tasted.

Jack Sievers sat next to him, looking dapper and cranky. Jack had put on a suit and tie for the occasion, which Tanner had to appreciate since Jack had dressed at six in the morning. The two of them had been sitting there for hours—ever since the Saturday night game had broken up at Big Julie’s and the feds had swooped in and arrested the mobster. Tanner had called Jack as they’d headed to the federal office building, and they’d chatted quickly before the agents debriefed Tanner on the game. At dawn, when the rest of the IRS agents and state police involved in the sting had gone home for some sleep, Jack, on Tanner’s behalf, demanded a meeting with the FBI’s Special Agent in Charge for Las Vegas. And now they were waiting.

“Aren’t they ever coming back?” Jack complained now. He looked up at the surveillance camera tucked into the ceiling tile.

“Hey!” he yelled at the camera. “Hurry up! What’s taking so long?”

“Maybe they’re trying to find someone who knows how to type,” Tanner said.

Jack sighed. “I’d go out and pick us up some food and decent coffee, but I’m afraid I’d miss the excitement,” he said.

They looked around the empty conference room.

“Right,” Tanner said. “Excitement.” He paused. “I hope I’m not wasting your time here.”

Jack glanced at Tanner with a thin smile. “This will work out,” he said. “You’ll see. I didn’t go to that fancy Ivy League law school for nothing.”

“I know,” Tanner said, watching his friend turn into a shark of a lawyer. He tried to smile except his face felt too stiff and his stomach felt too cramped. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

The night had been the worst of Tanner’s life. He’d won the game—or rather he’d thrown the game so that Big Julie had won it—which kept the FBI off his back and his butt out of prison. But he was terrified that in the process of winning the game, he’d lost Hope. He’d never seen her so angry. She’d thrown those poisonous barbs at him all night. But in the end when she’d walked out it was the resignation he’d seen on her face that had really crushed him. It was like she knew he’d betray her.

But she must feel something for him. Something besides rage. Because if she didn’t, she’d have told Big Julie last night that he’d been cheating, and he’d be out in the middle of the Mojave desert somewhere pushing up cacti by now instead of sitting here in the FBI conference room with Jack. But she hadn’t told Big Julie.

He was trying to hold onto that thought.

Still, he’d taken the ranch from her. He’d told her he would, and he had. He’d told her they could work something out. She hadn’t believed him. And then she’d walked away. Said she never wanted to see him again.

In fact, he didn’t know if he could get the ranch back. He was trying. If he failed, he’d lost more than a card game. He’d lost any chance he’d had to share something with Hope.

He didn’t know if he could repair the damage he’d done to her, even if he did get the ranch back. Hers wasn’t the kind of anger that could be melted with candy and flowers. He would never forget the way she’d looked when she’d walked away. Maybe one betrayal had been one too many. Maybe she’d never forgive him.

Jack perked up and sat up a little straighter.

“Here they come,” he said.

The door opened and Special Agent Roy Frelly and Lee Gauger came into the conference room with someone Tanner had never met. They all held paper cups of a beverage that smelled like coffee, so Tanner knew they hadn’t gotten it from the vending machine. He felt a surge of annoyance. Just how bad could this day get? He’d played cards with a gangster, he’d betrayed Hope, she’d dumped him, and the stupid FBI couldn’t even offer him a decent cup of coffee. After all he’d done for them.

“You guys are getting the red carpet treatment,” Frelly said. “This is Special Agent in Charge William Andrews.”

“Is that red carpet over here, too? Because I don’t see anyone bringing us coffee,” Tanner said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“This whole evening has been highly irregular,” Andrews said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “There’s no precedent for what you’re proposing.”

“I guess that’s why you’re called Special Agent in Charge,” Tanner said, still annoyed about the coffee. “You get to make the decisions.”

“Tanner,” Jack said.

“I also called the district attorney,” Andrews said.

“I hope you gave Brent my regards,” Tanner said. “Do you have our agreement?”

“Tanner,” Jack said. “I’m the lawyer. I get to ask all the offensive questions.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.”

“So, Mr. Andrews,” Jack said, “Do you have our agreement?”

Andrews dropped a file folder on the conference table. “Let’s go over it one more time, with everybody at the table. Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings of what happened and what will happen as part of this agreement.”

“As long as you make it fast,” Tanner said, glancing at his watch. “I still have a lot to do today.”

“Tanner,” Jack said. “Gentlemen. Let me read the agreement while you’re talking. That will save a lot of time.”

Andrews opened the file, sliding a stapled document across the table. Jack took a pen out of his breast pocket and, holding it over the document, started to read.

The Special Agent in Charge cleared his throat.

“Mr. Wingate, you played cards last night with known Mafia don Guilio Saladino, also known as Big Julie Saladino, to meet the terms of your probation, is that correct? Our directive was that you would play with him at his regularly scheduled game—a game in his suite that meets the Nevada state legal definition of an unlicensed gambling establishment. In the course of that game, you guaranteed that Big Julie would win a sizable amount of money—even if it meant that you cheated in the game—with the expected outcome that Big Julie would not register his winnings for the IRS as is required. Is that correct?”

“You know it is,” Tanner said.

“And partway through the game, did you really leave Big Julie’s suite and threaten Special Agent Gauger?”

“Don’t answer that, Tanner,” Jack said, looking up sharply.

“I would never threaten anyone,” Tanner said.

“You sure as hell did,” Gauger objected. “I still think we should throw you behind bars for that.”

Tanner shook his head. “I merely explained the relationship of cause and effect. And I suggested Special Agent Gauger contact his superior officer for advice.”

Jack grunted and turned a page.

“You did too threaten me,” Gauger said. “When you left the suite and chased after that woman—” Gauger consulted his notes, “—Hope McNaughton. One of the rotating players. We’ve got it all on tape. She went all-in on the hand that had the ranch in the pot, but she lost the hand and then she was out. Wingate here pursued her down the hallway before the game was over. He could have ruined the entire operation right there.”

“But I didn’t,” Tanner said.

Gauger scowled. “So after the McNaughton woman gets in the elevator, Wingate here speaks into his pen microphone, calls me out of surveillance, says that if the FBI doesn’t give the ranch property back to the original owner—”

“That being Derek McNaughton, not Big Julie Saladino,” Tanner interrupted.

Jack looked up from the document. “Since Big Julie won it from Derek under circumstances that would substantially and materially call into question the legality of the gambling transaction,” Jack added.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gauger said. “So we’re all standing out there in the hallway by Big Julie’s suite, and Wingate here threatens that if we don’t give the ranch back to Derek McNaughton instead of seizing it like is our legal right—not to mention responsibility—to do, that he, Wingate, would let Big Julie know that we was staking him out. Thus for sure blowing our entire operation.”

“Wasting thousands of taxpayer dollars,” Frelly chimed in.

Tanner sighed. “As if you care about taxpayer dollars, Frelly.”

Frelly looked injured. “Of course I care about taxpayer dollars. I’m expecting to get a bunch of them in my pension. If you don’t do nothing to screw it up.”

William Andrews broke in, staring at Tanner.

“It is almost inconceivable to me that you threatened to reveal our stakeout to Saladino. You had to have understood the consequences. You could have gone to prison for twenty years—your full term—for failing to cooperate with last night’s operation.” Andrews looked incredulous.

“Would never happen,” Jack Sievers said, glancing up.

“Ha,” Andrews said, not laughing. “We could ask a jury to decide.”

“A Vegas jury,” Sievers said, returning to the document.

“Believe it,” Tanner said. “I was perfectly willing to accept the consequences of not cooperating with you.”

“It would have screwed up your whole life,” Andrews said in disbelief.

“So would not getting the ranch back to the rightful owner,” Tanner said.

“Still—”

“I took a calculated risk,” Tanner said. “You guys have demanded a lot more from me over the years than my probation required. Nothing in the original agreement says I have to go undercover. It doesn’t say I have to enter into arrangements that threaten my safety. Last night I did both.”

“Big Julie’s bodyguard always carries a gun,” Jack interrupted, not looking up from what he was reading. “Maybe Big Julie, too. Surely there are other weapons in the suite.” He turned a page. “Putting himself in harm’s way—possibly getting shot—that’s the ‘grievous bodily harm’ that’s prohibited in my client’s probation agreement. That’s what you’re supposed to prevent happening to him.”

“Right,” Tanner said. “Grievous bodily harm, no have to do. And in return for not suing you for violating the terms of my probation and requiring me to do things I’m not trained for and thus in doing them might die, all I asked you for—through Special Agents Gauger and Frelly here—was that you choose to enforce the law in one way rather than another. Give the ranch back to Derek McNaughton—”

“Which is entirely within your purview to do,” Jack interrupted.

“—instead of keeping it for yourself,” Tanner finished. “Besides, what do you want with a ranch?”

“It’s all crap,” Frelly said morosely. He took a little amber bottle of pills from his pocket, pried off the lid, and shook two into his hand. Popping them into his mouth, he gulped some coffee, swished it around in his mouth, and swallowed with a grimace.

“Agent Frelly,” Tanner said. “I see you’re not yet recovered from the attack of the killer beets. How are you feeling?”

“My head feels like a watermelon thrown off a ten-story building,” Frelly said. “Thanks for askin.’”

Jack looked up from the papers. “This is acceptable,” he said to Tanner. “Sign here.” He handed Tanner a pen and Tanner signed the document, promising that he would not sue the agents, and in exchange, the FBI agreed not to retain the deed of the ranch they’d seized according to federal property forfeiture laws in the arrest of Big Julie Saladino. Instead, they would revert the deed to Derek McNaughton, the original owner of the property.

“See? We do know how to type,” Andrews said, as he countersigned.

“I never doubted it,” Tanner said.



After they left the federal building, Tanner treated Jack to a cup of real coffee from a real coffee shop. “What now?” Jack asked, as he took a long swallow and sighed in satisfaction. “Or are we done with this?”

“We’re done with the feds,” Tanner said, drinking some of his own coffee. “Now, all I have to do is find Derek McNaughton and persuade him to do the right thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” Jack said with a grin. “You need me for that part, too?”

“Are you kidding? You and everybody else. Here’s my plan.” Tanner lowered his voice and started to talk.



By the time Tanner had filled Jack in, they’d had something to eat, and they’d gone to Jack’s office where he’d filed one set of papers and created another set, Tanner was starting to feel more optimistic than he’d felt since he first spotted Hope at Big Julie’s card game. He’d been calling Hope all afternoon to no avail, but with this progress, he at least had something positive to report. Now I can explain everything, he thought as he called her again in midafternoon and listened to her cell phone ring. She didn’t answer—again—so he left a message and then called the house. Faith picked up.

“Faith, it’s Tanner,” he said.

“Tanner, how could you?” Faith asked, her voice charged with anger and reproach. “You played against Hope, and you cheated?”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” he said. “Is Hope there? I’d like to explain.”

“She’s here, but she went to say goodbye to the uncles and then she sold Banjo and now she’s sleeping, so I’m not going to wake her. She’s had a long week and she’s really upset. We all are. You know, Tanner, in the old days they used to kill card cheats.”

Tanner exhaled on a sigh. “I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. But right now I’m in Jack Sievers’s office, and he needs to talk to your mom.”

“What about?”

“He’s going to explain that to your mom, okay?”

“We don’t need a lawyer,” Faith said.

“Faith, cut me some slack here,” Tanner said, losing patience. “I’ve been up all night and I’m tired and upset, too. Put your mother on the phone. Please.”

Faith sniffed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll get her. Just so you know that we are very disappointed in you, Tanner. Very disappointed.”

Disappointed, hell. That was the least of it. Tanner rubbed his gritty eyes. He was now officially heading toward thirty hours with no sleep, and he was exhausted, annoyed, and terrified. What if this didn’t work and Hope never spoke to him again? What if it did work and Hope refused to see him anyway? What then?

“Yes?” said Suzanne. “Tanner?”

“Suzanne,” Tanner said. “Listen. I’m with Jack Sievers. He’s a lawyer, an old friend of mine. He got Faith’s truck back when the cops took it.”

“Oh, yes,” Suzanne said. “She mentioned that.”

“Okay, good,” Tanner said. “He needs to represent you. Officially, I mean. There has to be paperwork. I’m going to put him on the phone now, and he’ll tell you what you have to do.”

“Okay,” Suzanne said. “Paperwork? Represent me for what?”

“Jack will explain everything,” Tanner said, handing the phone to his friend.



A short time later, Marty was in his room packing. The clock radio, tuned to an opera station, had Tosca on the air, with Maria Callas singing the lead. Now that gal had a set of pipes. Marty hummed along as he emptied drawers and hangers.

Just when Maria hit her high C in the Act Three, Presto! Su, Mario! section, his phone rang.

“Yeah,” he said when he picked up the phone.

“Marty, it’s Tanner Wingate. I need—”

Marty hung up. The aria built to a powerful crescendo as Marty jammed his socks into the pockets of his wheeled carry-on and grabbed his shirts off their hangers. The clanking hangers chimed in with the orchestral cymbals.

The phone rang again.

“Yeah,” Marty said, folding the shirts.

“Don’t hang up,” Tanner said.

Marty hung up. He took his extra pants out of the room’s dresser and folded them, putting them on top of the shirts. Callas’s voice rose above the thundering timpani as Marty jammed down the lid of the carry-on and zipped it shut.

The phone rang again. This time Marty checked the caller ID. Him again.

“Hope’s in trouble!” Tanner yelled just before Marty yelled “Get lost!”

There was an instant of silence.

“You caused the trouble, you jackass,” Marty said. “I’m not talking to you.”

“I can fix it,” Tanner said fast, before Marty could hang up.

There was another instant of silence.

“You got a plan?” Marty said finally.

“Yes,” said Tanner. “But I need your help.”

“I’m listening,” Marty said.



Thirty minutes later, Marty had unpacked his suitcase and was out at the curb of the Golden Palace. A new, black SUV rolled up to the red velvet rope, the back window purred down, and Tanner stuck his head out.

“Marty, there’s room up front,” he said.

Marty opened the front door and got in. He glanced with no apparent nervousness at Kenji, a two-hundred-fifty-pound mountain behind the wheel. Then he turned around to talk to Tanner, who sat in the back with Jack Sievers.

“These aren’t your wheels,” he said. “This ride’s too nice for you. You carjack this vehicle?”

“I couldn’t fit everybody in my truck,” Tanner said. “Kenji Hasegawa is your driver. And Jack Sievers here is an attorney. Kenji, Jack, this is Marty.”

The men all nodded, sizing each other up.

“You’re the muscle?” Marty asked, looking at Kenji with interest.

“No, you’re the muscle,” Tanner said. “You’re the one supplying all the gravitas.”

“Gravitas?” Marty asked. “I thought that was a smoked fish.”

Kenji smiled. “A smoked fish,” he said. “Good one.”

“Hey,” Jack said. “I thought I was gravitas. I’m the lawyer.”

“I’m biggest,” Kenji said. “I’m gravitas. The smoked fish.”

“You can all be gravitas,” Tanner said. “Mainly I need Kenji to look threatening, Marty to be threatening, and Jack to do the paperwork.”

“What will you be doing while we’re all being gravitas?” Jack asked.

“I will be restraining myself from killing the bastard,” Tanner said.

Everyone observed a moment of silence.

“Will there be weapons?” Marty asked, clinically disinterested.

Kenji glanced at Tanner in the rearview mirror. “Weapons? Nobody said anything about weapons. Should I have brought my knives?”

Marty sized up Kenji again. “You’re a knife man?”

“Well—I’m a chef. The knives are incidental.”

Marty laughed. “This will be fun.”

“That’s what I think, too,” Tanner said, not smiling at all.



Kenji, following the beeping instructions of the SUV’s GPS system, got them to Derek McNaughton’s place without mishap. He pulled up to the curb, parked, turned off the engine. They all looked at the house.

“I’m feeling a lot better about this now,” Kenji said.

Tanner glanced at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Kenji shrugged. “Well—you’re my friend and I’d help you regardless, but—” He looked out at Derek McNaughton’s place.

“Derek McNaughton’s got money,” Kenji finished.

“Hell, yes,” Marty said. “That’s an effing mansion.”

“Well, a small mansion,” Jack corrected.

“Okay,” Marty agreed. “A small effing mansion. Who would have guessed he had any money? He’s not much of a card player.”

“Looks like he’s got a lot of money,” Jack said.

“Some of it was Hope’s money,” Tanner said, feeling a spurt of rage for Derek McNaughton’s theft. “Let’s go in and get it back.” He got out of the car, slamming the door with more force than was necessary, and strode to the front door.

Marty stepped in front of him and rang the bell while Jack detoured over to the garage. He put his hands against a glass window and leaned in to see.

“Car’s here,” he said, coming back and dusting off his hands. “Nice Mercedes E-Series. I looked at one of those when I was trading up.”

“He’s here, then,” Tanner said, hearing how grim he sounded.

Marty rang again, and then they heard footsteps approach and the door swung open. Derek was tall, and his posture was straight and relaxed. His light hair had gone mostly gray and his freckled face was weathered from the sun, but his light blue eyes were clear.

Hope’s got good genes, Tanner realized as he saw her father for the first time. He didn’t like him any better because of it.

“Marty!” Derek said, looking surprised. “And Tanner? Tanner Wingate? Who are the rest of your friends? And what are you doing here?”

“Long story,” Marty said. “Can we come in?”

“I’m not sure—” Derek said, but Marty had already pushed his way past the front door.

Tanner followed Marty into the house. “We’re the guys who’re helping Hope,” he said. “Remember her? She’s your daughter.”



A half-hour later, Tanner lost his temper.

“The ranch is mine,” Derek said. “You said so yourself. You got it back from the feds. I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“We didn’t get it back for you, you son-of-a—”

“Tanner.” Marty raised his hand and turned to Derek. “You’re the middleman here, Derek. The feds can take back the ranch, or you can sell it to Suzanne for a reasonable amount. Either way, you won’t keep it. And why let the feds have it?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t keep it. It’s mine now. Are you sure you won’t have any of this melon? It’s delicious.”

Kenji reached out for the melon plate and picked it up.

“We’re not here for melon,” he said, and carried it into the kitchen.

“Big guy,” Derek said, as he watched Kenji disappear down the hallway.

“And he knows how to use knives,” Jack said.

“Like a pro,” Tanner said.

“So like I said.” Marty glared at all of them. “That ranch is going to Suzanne.”

“The hell it is,” Derek said.

Feeling crowded by anger and inaction, Tanner jumped to his feet. All eyes swiveled to him.

“Derek, let me spell it out for you,” he said. “You’re going to sell the ranch to Suzanne for a fair price.”

A smile creased Derek’s face. “Fair market value is two million dollars.”

“Not even close,” Tanner snorted. “One dollar. Jack has the paperwork right here.”

Derek laughed. “You’re crazy.” He started to get up just as Kenji came back from the kitchen. “Excuse me, boys, I’ve got to—”

Tanner put his hands on Derek’s shoulders and shoved him down so hard the chair rocked back. Derek’s eyes opened in shock.

“Sit down, Derek, while I explain why one dollar is a fair market price. Seventeen years ago when you abandoned your family, you had two minor children and a wife who was unemployable.”

“She was a showgirl,” Derek said. “She made good money.”

“Not two kids later, she didn’t. Or couldn’t, with stretch marks and no education and no other skills,” Tanner said.

“We split the assets in the divorce,” Derek said.

“She kept the cash, you kept the ranch,” Tanner nodded. “She used the thirty thousand to support them all while she looked for a job because you didn’t pay alimony or child support. When the cash ran out, your older daughter, Hope—remember her?—she was fifteen. She got a job off the books after school to help meet expenses, because you, Derek, charged them rent.”

“Suzanne never complained,” Derek said.

“When did Suzanne ever complain?” Marty asked. “That’s why you married her. Now shut up, Derek, because if you don’t, I can make you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Derek said, but he glanced at Marty’s fists.

“Any of us would,” Marty said, unclenching his hands and rubbing them down the legs of his pants.

“So,” Tanner said, “because Suzanne wouldn’t ask a herd of stampeding buffalo to stop trampling her, you never paid child support and you never paid alimony. You charged them rent. You didn’t maintain your property. You didn’t contribute to your kids’ college educations—”

“I don’t have to do that!” Derek said. “They’re eighteen, they’re adults. They don’t have to go to college.”

“You are pathetic,” Kenji said, shaking his head. “I wish I had my knives. My dull knives.”

“I never liked you,” Marty said to Derek. “In all those years, we only tolerated you because we loved Little Hope and we worried about how you dragged her all over. We thought if you were taking her into card rooms when she should have been home in bed, we should be there, too. At least, that way we knew nothing really terrible would happen to her. But you were a pathetic excuse for a father.”

“Marty!” Derek said, wounded.

“Here’s how I figure it,” Tanner said, getting their attention back. “If Suzanne had gone to court, she’d have been entitled to a share of your earnings. The child support you never paid, that would have been about one-fifty, two hundred G’s. Based on your earnings. Maybe more, now that I see this house.”

“Never!” said Derek.

“The alimony you never paid for seventeen years, that would have been about six hundred thousand,” Tanner said.

Derek sounded strangled.

Tanner grinned, a feral grin. “Should have stayed married, huh? The health insurance the court would have ordered for your kids and Suzanne over the years, about one-fifty, two hundred more. That takes me to just under a million. Add in a few trips to Disneyland, a couple of prom dresses, some college expenses, and what-have-you, and I make it something over a million.”

“Sounds about right,” Jack said, nodding.

“Plus the alimony you’re still not paying Suzanne,” Tanner said. “And, worst of all, the winnings you stole from Hope when she was a minor and still trying to earn your affection, you miserable creep.”

“He did that?” Marty asked. “I never knew that.”

“He did,” Tanner said. “I’d like to know how much it was.”

“I have a pretty good idea.” Marty settled back, his eyes hooded. He looked at Derek like he was a dead, smelly thing he’d found in a sewer. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know that then,” he said.

“It’s not too late to do something about it now,” Kenji said, sounding hopeful.

“Add it all up, you owe them big time,” Tanner said, turning back to Derek. “And that’s why you’ll be transferring the ranch to Suzanne for a dollar.”

“No,” Derek said.

“Yes,” Tanner said. “And here’s the part you’ll never get. They are a terrific family. Suzanne has worked her butt off at a diner all this time to make ends meet. Hope got an MBA with no help from anybody, and now she’s a chief financial officer at a software company.”

Kenji nodded. “Faith has her own business. She grows organic vegetables. Beautiful produce. And your granddaughter. Little Amber—”

“I have a granddaughter?” Derek asked.

Kenji frowned. “How could you not know you have a granddaughter? She’s eleven. You haven’t even talked to them in eleven years? Amber likes to cook. She and I are writing a cookbook together.”

“And you dumped them,” Tanner said, feeling his anger start to boil over. “You ran out on them. And for what? They weren’t good enough for you?”

“It wasn’t like that—” Derek said.

“It was exactly like that,” Tanner said. “Jack, give him the papers.”

“Sign here,” Jack said, pushing the papers and a pen across the coffee table.

“You don’t understand!” Derek said, his voice rising. “I can’t!”

“You can, and you will,” Tanner said, fury making his voice cold.

“No. I mean it. I really can’t.” Derek dropped his head into his hands. “I’m broke,” he said, his voice muffled.

Tanner rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, I’m seeing that,” he said. “Shut up and sign the papers.”

“It’s true,” Derek said, his head still bowed. “I’m washed up. Penniless. The ranch is all I’ve got. Julie Saladino’s buyer is still interested. I’m selling it to him.”

“No, you’re not,” Tanner said, clenching his fists. “You’re selling it to Suzanne. You don’t seem to understand your situation here, Derek. We’re here to make sure you do sign these papers. Using whatever means we have to.”

Derek lifted his head and looked at Tanner’s face. He swallowed.

“Look. I got no income,” Derek said, looking at them with eyes full of helplessness. “I—I can’t play cards any more.”

“What do you mean?” Marty asked. “You in a twelve-step program or something?”

“No,” Derek said. He sat silent.

“Talk,” Tanner snarled.

Derek exhaled. “Well. I’d been doing good. When I was on my own. Got lucky enough to buy this house, some other stuff.”

Tanner grabbed the front of Derek’s shirt, yanking him out of the chair. “You think leaving your kids was lucky? You won a lot of money but gave them nothing? Because it was lucky?”

Marty stood up and put his hand on Tanner’s arm. “Let him say what he has to say.”

Tanner let go of Derek’s shirt. Derek bounced back down into the chair, looking relieved.

“So I was doing okay, and then, after a while, I wasn’t. Had a spell of bad cards. And I…”

“What?” Tanner barked.

“I made a deal. At the casino. With a dealer,” Derek said.

Tanner shook his head with contempt.

“You are an idiot,” he said. “You conspired with a card room employee to rip off the casino?”

Derek looked embarrassed. “Something like that,” he said.

“He dealt you high cards and when you won, you gave him a kickback?”

“Something like that,” Derek said again.

“So the casino found out, the employee was fired, and you’re banned from the casinos for life,” Marty said.

Derek looked at the floor.

Tanner scowled at the washed-up gambler. Hope—the whole family—was better off without this loser.

“That doesn’t change anything,” he said. “Suzanne still gets the ranch. You weren’t charged with a crime. You can get a job and earn money that way. Millions of people do it.”

“I don’t know anything but cards!” Derek protested.

“Actually, Derek, you don’t know cards all that well, either,” Marty said.

“No kidding,” Jack said. “So has anything changed here, or are we going ahead?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Tanner said. “Derek will sign the papers selling the ranch for one dollar to Suzanne. If he doesn’t, we hurt him.”

“Or worse,” Marty said.

“Hurt you can’t imagine,” Jack said. “IRS hurt.”

Tanner frowned. “I was thinking I’d just beat him to a bloody pulp.”

Derek flinched.

“I can’t advise your doing that,” Jack said. “It would not look good on your resume, and Mr. McNaughton’s having to get a job for the rest of his life will be punishment enough.”

“But what can I do?” Derek said. “I’m not qualified for anything!”

Tanner smiled, an evil smile.

“I have an idea,” he said.