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She wore a self-satisfied, confident smirk that said, ‘I’m the smartest person in this room.’
“Best way to make this work”—Fiona tapped her manicured nails against her tablet—“is to separate the parcels. Sell off the grazing land first, then we start rezoning the southern acreage for commercial development, which Congressman Thornton said shouldn’t be a problem.” She smiled widely at the man, who raised hisglass and winked. “The airport deal is our foot in the door, and once that’s greenlit, the rest will be easy.”
Piper smirked. “Easy, sure—if we can avoid the red tape.”
Fiona didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve done it before.”
Thornton chuckled. “You saying you know a few shortcuts, Miss Montgomery?”
Fiona lifted a shoulder. “I’m saying I know how to make things move when they need to.”
Piper laughed, low and knowing. “Hell, I’d believe it. This woman could walk through a fire and come out holding a signed permit.”
I wasn’t surprised that Piper and Fiona got along as well as they did—maybe they and my mother could band together and start a book club or something.
Fiona smiled, slow and confident. “It’s all about knowing the right people in the right offices—and knowing what they need to make a decision go your way.”
Piper arched a brow. “Bribes?”
Fiona shrugged. “‘Bribe’ is such an uglyandillegal word. Let’s just say incentives. Expedite fees. A donation to the right campaign. Sometimes, things get held up in environmental reviews, or some city official decides they need a little more convincing. That’s where I come in.”
That was the cost of doing business—and I’d done plenty of it in the past years.
The congressman chuckled. “And here I thought you were just good at negotiating.”
“I am,” Fiona said proudly. “I got the Evergreen dealthrough last year even when the state was ready to shut it down over wetlands protections.”
My gaze snapped to her.
I had ignored the whispers—falsified environmental impact reports and local officials mysteriously changing their votes after private meetings. I hadn’t questioned how Fiona spent the discretionary funds, hadn’t scrutinized the fine print. I’d just enjoyed seeing the bottom line climb, never caring how she made it happen. But I would now. I’d dig into every shady deal, every corner she’d cut, every rule she’d bent to serve her own ambition. And I silently thanked Fiona for leading with arrogance—because now, I could get rid of her without worrying about a lawsuit.
Fiona waved a hand. “Same playbook here. Get the right geotech firm to write up a study that says what we need it to say, make sure the zoning board gets a little encouragement, and suddenly, this land is a prime commercial corridor, no obstacles in sight.”
Piper grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“So, all said and done, Duke, you can walk away with two-fifty, maybe even three hundred,” Kaz finished. “After taxes….”
I stopped listening to him.
They wanted to carve it up, sell it off, and bleed every last dollar from the land until there was nothing left but dust and broken promises.
And hell, I’d invited this. I’d shaken hands with these people, shared drinks with them, played the long game so they wouldn’t turn around and screw me with rezoninglaws, eminent domain, or whatever loophole they could find to take what was mine. I’d told myself it was strategy. Smart business.
But now, listening to these powerful men and women talk about Wilder Ranch like it was nothing more than prime real estate waiting to be exploited, I felt sick. Because the thought of this land—this legacy—paved over, stripped bare, turned into another Goddamn development wasn’t just sound business anymore—it felt like sacrilege. I wish I’d had this epiphany months ago, so I didn’t have to be sitting here with these people wanting to hit someone.
Comfortable in my decision to not sell, I relaxed in my chair and threw out my opening salvo, more for entertainment than for any other purpose.
“For $250 million? That’d be the dumbest deal of the century. This place brings in $50 million a year. Hell, in five years, I’d make that money back and still have the land.”
“That’s a generous offer,” Piper warned. “Between inheritance taxes, land taxes, and every other Goddamn thing the government can throw at you, they’ll gut you before they let you keep a hundred thousand acres of prime real estate.” She smiled, slow and sharp. “You’re better off cashing out while you still can.”
I didn’t bat an eyelid. “Look, at $50M per year in revenue, the ranch would pay for itself in just five years. I’d say that we could easily sell for ten times the annual revenue, meaning Wilder Ranch is worth a whole hell of a lot more than what your money nerds came up with.”
Kaz looked amused, while the congressman looked flustered. Did they think I wouldn’t do my homework?
Congressman Thornton cleared his throat. "Now, son, let’s not get carried away. Land value is based on what someone’s willing to pay, not just what it earns in a year."
I grinned. "Exactly. And if you think $250 million is what this land is worth, you’re out of your Goddamn minds."