My phone vibrates again.
Unknown
Surveillance update.
Deputy’s vehicle spotted leaving Blackthorn Ranch. 0418.
I stop. This is interesting. I open the attached image.
It’s a hazy surveillance snapshot of Deputy Harper Garrett’s SUV turning out of the driveway from the Blackthorn Ranch. It’s dark out, but the face is unmistakable.
A slow smile curls across my face. Well. This changes things, doesn’t it?
Harper Garrett—the sheriff’s daughter and Iron Ridge’s golden girl—spending her nights at Blackthorn Ranch. I wonder which one she’s sleeping with. Bennett probably, but who knows? Callahan married Emma Hayes last week, but that doesn’t mean he’s not fucking someone on the side. Or that Mason Rivera and Lily Carter aren’t sharing the fine deputy.
Who Harper Garrett is fucking hardly matters. What matters is the connection. Connections create vulnerabilities, and vulnerabilities create leverage.
I delete the string of texts and lean against the railing. Sheriff Dan Garrett has belonged to me for seven years—not because he’s weak, but because he’s a father.
There’s a difference.
The first time I threatened Harper, he folded immediately. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he’d blubbered. “Just leave my daughter alone.”
Pathetic.
Useful though.
And now Harper has attached herself to Blackthorn Ranch. Which means Garrett, Blackthorn, and the Circle H are no longer separate problems. They’re all connected.
For the first time all evening, I feel something resembling satisfaction.
Mandy Reed.
Emma Hayes.
Circle H.
Blackthorn Ranch.
For weeks I’ve been reacting, cleaning up messes. Tonight I finally found somewhere to apply pressure.
I finish the bourbon and head back inside.
The crowd parts easily. It always does.
“Richard,” I say, shaking another donor’s hand. “Good to see you.”
We discuss property values and tourism. His wife laughs at my jokes. He writes a check. Everyone leaves happy.
That’s the thing about power. Most people think it’s force and money and fear. Those things help, but real power is understanding what people love and knowing exactly how to use it against them.
I go back to work the room, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, thanking donors for their support. Margaret Wilson writes a check for four hundred thousand dollars. I thank her personally and promise to remember her generosity.
The silent auction closes. I win a weekend at a luxury cabin in Big Sky. I don't need it, but it looks good to participate.
By the time I step outside to the valet stand, I've raised a million dollars for the campaign. Not bad for three hours of shaking hands and lying to strangers.
When the valet brings around my Mercedes, I slide behind the wheel and head back to my mansion here in Bozeman. Tomorrow I’ll drive back to Iron Ridge. Since my men have been incompetent, it’s up to me to step in and take care of everything.