Chasing the Son (22 page)

“Can do,” Kono said.

The two of them left to accomplish their tasks.

“I think—“ Riley began, but then his phone rang. “Yo.”

“Riley, it’s Parsons. You got an epidemic of heart attacks down there it seems.”

“Who now?”

“Merchant Fabrou collapsed on his boat. I picked it up off the wires since they’re dispatching a sea ambulance to his yacht in your neck of the woods. Report is that it’s a heart attack.”

Riley sighed. “Anything else?”

“Nope. Just thought you might want to know. Seems like the shit is hitting the fan. Might want to duck.”

“Not likely,” Riley said. “Thanks.”

He hung up then relayed the information to the other two.

“I saw something,” Chase said, “when I was in the harbor master’s office. Kind of looked like they were trying to kill someone on Merchant Fabrou’s yacht, but he got away.”

“And where are the cops?” Westland asked.

“Don’t ask,” Riley said. As she started to ask, he held up a hand. “Seriously, Kate. Think Deadwood. Think Wild West. Think whatever.”

“Okey-dokey,” Westland said, obviously not surprised. “Got it.”

“The guy they were shooting at got away to Daufuskie,” Riley said. “So I’m thinking that’s a good place to check out. Not like the ferry is running any more. And it isn’t likely he’s going to run into someone to bring him to the mainland. Island’s almost deserted now since the resort went under. My boat is tied up here. We can head over there now and track whoever it was down.”

* * *

Preston looked at the image, recognizing Harry Brannigan, despite the longer hair and the semi-beard. “Do you know where this is?”

The man holding the iPad with the picture was former Secret Service and now worked for Preston’s father. Who’d ‘subletted’ him to his son as personal protection. He was a short man, with a burly build. His nose had been broken long ago and set improperly, giving it a slight cant. He often felt it was his appearance that had kept him from a promotion to the Presidential detail, blithely ignoring the fact he’d been cashiered for spending a night with a hooker on an advance detail and showing up for duty still somewhat drunk.

That didn’t mean Jimmy Pappano didn’t know his job. He’d put a tap into Sarah Briggs’ phone while she was using the bathroom during her ‘meeting’ with Preston at the Senator’s Charleston office. What the two had done hadn’t disgusted him, as he’d seen much weirder and kinkier stuff in his time in Washington D.C. both in the Secret Service and working privately for the Senator.

Pappano nodded. “I tracked it off the towers. It’s south of here. Wassaw Wildlife Refuge, which is east and a little south of Savannah on the coast.”

Preston was in a second-floor suite in the Sea Pines Resort, where Presidents and other big-wigs used to visit annually for Renaissance Weekend. The event had since moved on to other locales, but it was a still a nice joint.

He was seated behind a large desk, covered with papers and plans: the future of Daufuskie Island as envisioned by the Sea Drift plan, but modified by Preston Gregory for Preston Gregory.

“Harry Brannigan,” Preston said, staring at the image. “I assume the old man is Doc Cleary.”

“She threatened Chase,” Pappano said. “Told him he had to do what she said to get his son back.”

“She’s going to betray me,” Preston said with certainty. “The fucking bitch is going to betray me. She lied to my face yesterday about Harry. She’s going to use Chase and Riley to take me out.”

Pappano had nothing to say to that.

“You saw her come out of Rigney’s place?”

Pappano nodded. “One of my men was tailing her. She was in there about forty-five minutes.”

“She’s playing everyone,” Preston said. “And so is Rigney.”

“What do you want me to do?” Pappano asked.

“Go to Wassaw Island,” Preston ordered. “Get them. Leave three of your men with me.”

Pappano nodded. “Where do you want me to bring them?”

“My boat,” Preston said. “You’re going to need it to get down there. Then come back up. Clear?”

Pappano nodded. “Might get a little messy dealing with whoever she has guarding them.”

Preston shrugged. “So be it. Going to get messy in a lot of places.” As Pappano went to the door, Preston called out: “Send him in. Tell the men you’re leaving to wait five minutes, then come in.”

“Roger that.” Pappano exited and Charles Rigney entered.

“Is something going on?” Rigney asked.

“Something is always going on,” Preston said. “But everything is under control.”

Charles Rigney gingerly sat down without asking permission—he’d work with the young man, but he would not kowtow to the youngster. “You’re sure Merchant is dead?”

“Heart attack,” Preston said.

“Incredible timing,” Rigney said. “And quite prescient of you to have me get him to amend his will two months ago, before his surgery.”

Preston tapped the side of his head. “I see the future, Charles. Stick with me and I’ll take you places you’ve never considered.”

“I suspect that is a possibility,” Rigney said. “But I’ll be cashing out as we discussed. I’m getting too old for all of this.” He paused. “The word is that Farrelli also had a heart attack.”

“You’d think it was contagious,” Preston said. “You’re certain the clause will work?” he asked, tapping the papers he’d just been perusing.

Rigney nodded. “Upon the unlikely event of the passing of both father and son, with no male heir, the Fabrou stake in Daufuskie passes to the State of South Carolina, earmarked as a wildlife refuge. But, as I showed you, there was a case twenty-two years ago where a parcel of land was passed to the State that way and the lawyer for the ex-wife had quite a bit of leverage in Columbia. A law was passed, retroactive, and now the state can waive its claim and the land be purchased at a price determined by the comptroller.”

“And you know the comptroller,” Preston made it a statement, not a sentence.

“As planned, the paperwork is already drawn up for that sale to you.” Rigney indicated his brief case. “You’ll be getting it for pennies on the dollar.”

“And how much does the comptroller get?”

“Six hundred thousand.”

“How much does he actually get once it passes through you?”

“Four hundred thousand.”

Preston laughed. “Got to love capitalism. Anything can be bought. Anyone can be bought.”

Rigney shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“Do you believe that?” Preston asked.

“What?”

“That anyone can be bought?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Rigney replied.

“Don’t lie,” Preston said. “You’re a lawyer. Of course you’ve thought about it. And you’ve done it. I bought you from Mrs. Jenrette, correct?”

“Old man Jenrette screwed me in his will,” Rigney said. “Rewrote it himself and cut me out. It wasn’t what we’d agreed on. And I know the old lady isn’t going to do anything for me. After all the years I’ve served the family. So it’s not so much a case of you buying me; they ran me off.”

“And Sarah Briggs?”

Rigney froze in the chair. “Who?”

“Are you fucking her?” Preston asked. “What special ploy does she use on you?”

Rigney’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“The paperwork in your briefcase,” Preston said. “Is it made out to me? Or is it made out to her?”

Rigney found his voice. “To you, of course.”

The door opened and three men walked in. They spread out around the room, effectively circling Rigney.

“What’s going on?” Rigney demanded.

“I’ve asked you that three times and you haven’t answered,” Preston said. “If I look in your briefcase, will the paperwork be made out to me for the Fabrou’s portion of Daufuskie via the state or to her? I assure you, if you’re lying to me, you will not leave this room alive.”

Rigney closed his eyes. He sighed and then opened them. “There are two sets of paperwork in there. One for you. One for her.”

Preston laughed. “Exactly what a good lawyer would do. Prepare for all contingencies. And I assume you’ve done the same with Mrs. Jenrette’s property?”

“Yes.”

“What has Briggs offered you?” Preston asked.

“Five million.”

“And how does she propose to develop the island?” Preston asked. “She doesn’t have the contacts.”

“I believe she plans on selling it once the appropriation goes through.”

“And Bloody Point?” Preston asked.

“She owns it now.”

“You really think she’d pay you five million?” Preston asked.

Rigney shook his head. “No. But she’s a dangerous person. I needed a back-up in case she turned on you and she was the only one left standing.”

“I admire the planning,” Preston said. He looked past the lawyer at the man directly behind him and nodded.

Rigney started to turn, but he was too slow. The man slammed an icepick into the base of Rigney’s skull and twisted it once it had penetrated to the hilt.

There wasn’t much blood at all.

Preston walked around the desk then retrieved Rigney’s briefcase.

“Take care of the body and then we have to go out to Daufuskie Island to make another deal.”

* * *

Mrs. Jenrette didn’t like to leave her house. In fact, it was hard for her to recall the last time she’d passed out of the doors. And she most definitely did not like leaving Charleston.

She had a yacht, of course. One could not be rich in Charleston and not have a yacht, given there was water on three sides. She did remember her last time on it. A cruise with her husband, son and grandson. And now all three were gone. So it was with heavy heart she was supervising Thomas packing a small bag for a two-day excursion. Not far, just down the coast to Daufuskie Island and back. And she wouldn’t be doing it if the stakes weren’t so high.

“It will be done soon,” Thomas said, as he closed the overnight bag.

Mrs. Jenrette was thinking about that last trip. A cruise to Europe and the Mediterranean. Her pile of bags had filled the foyer; and the mansion had a very large foyer. Who had she been back then? All the stuff; she’d give it all up to have Greer back.

“I will be glad,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “I believe—“ she paused as the house phone rang, a most unusual occurrence. Oly a handful of people had the number; otherwise a service handled her calls, logging them, noting the message, and supplying a summary.

Thomas walked over to the closest extension. “It says ‘unknown’,” he reported as he looked at the display.

“Might as well answer it to see who is disturbing me.”

Thomas picked up the phone. “Jenrette residence.”

He listened for a moment. “Who might I say is calling?” A frown flickered over his face. “I cannot bring Mrs. Jenrette to the line unless I know to whom she would be speaking.” He put a hand over the receiver and spoke to Jenrette. “A woman. Says she must speak with you. It’s urgent regarding Daufuskie.”

Mrs. Jenrette twitched a finger, indicating he should bring the phone to her. She took the device. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Jenrette, my name is Sarah Briggs.”

“Proceed.” She nodded at Thomas and he picked up an extension to listen in.

“I just love your voice, Mrs. Jenrette. So southern, so much charm, so much power. Truly a marvel.”

“Is there a purpose to this call, Mrs. Briggs?”

“You assume I am married,” Sarah said. “I am not. But you can call me Sarah.”

“I have no reason to assume familiarity with someone I do not know,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

Sarah laughed. “So true, so true. Then I will get down to business. Seems everyone is in a hurry to get down to business these days. I was wondering about worth. How much things are worth on a relative scale.”

“Speak more plainly or I will hang up.”

“Sea Drift will be worth roughly two hundred million, won’t it?” Sarah did not wait for a reply. “And the split was to be fifty percent Jenrette, forty percent Fabrou, five percent Mongin, if they won’t sell out right, and the rest is allocated to acquiring Bloody Point. Five percent. Am I correct?”

“How do you know this?”

“Let’s not waste questions,” Sarah said. “If I am correct, then I know you know I know. We are most knowledgeable are we not?”

“I am knowledgeable,” Mrs. Jenrette said, “which is why you are wasting my time telling me things I already know.”

“That math would net me ten million,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Jenrette looked at Thomas as she spoke into the phone. “Our invisible owner of Bloody Point has dropped her cloak and appeared.”

“Indeed.”

“You do understand that those figures were internal discussions and privy to only a handful of people. We never intended to pay full price for Bloody Point.”

“I know. You were offering four hundred thousand.”

“And while you might feel you are in the catbird’s seat,” Mrs. Jenrette continued, “understand that the land you own is worthless since we control access to it.”

“As Senator Gregory controls releasing the appropriation for the causeway that will be built to the island once he releases the funds. By the way. How much does he get?”

Mrs. Jenrette gripped the phone tighter. “What do you want Mrs. Briggs.”

“Told you. I’m not married.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s more a question of what
you
want,” Sarah said.

“I want Bloody Point, but I won’t be extorted,” Mrs. Jenrette said.

“Fair market value given the causeway being built is not extortion,” Sarah said. “Current market value without knowledge of the causeway, well, now that would be cheating, wouldn’t it? And that’s what your agent was putting out there publicly.” Sarah’s voice got sharper. “So let’s not dance around pretending we’re belles at the ball, Mrs. Jenrette when we’re business women at a knife fight.”

“Fine,” Mrs. Jenrette said. “Ten million is fair market value given the causeway. I can have—“

“I want more.”

Mrs. Jenrette was about to say something, but Thomas shook his head and mouthed:
Wait.

“And
you
want more,” Sarah said. “Don’t you?”

“Speak.”

“Harry Brannigan.”

Mrs. Jenrette stood, one hand on the chair. “Go on.”