Page 51 of Sunny Undone

“Cheers,” Bennett says.

Knox’s eyes stay on the glass until Bennett knocks half of it back.

And then, I get it.

Alcohol lowers inhibitions. Our job is to keep Bennett here long enough to get what we need from him.

“This property, our place in the community, is important to me,” Knox says.

I lounge in my chair, even though my body feels tighter than a coiled spring. “If we’re even remotely going to consider selling it, we need to know the people aren’t assholes.”

Knox coughs into his fist, then gives me a look that says behave.

Bennett places his slim leather folder on the table and opens it. “My client believes Gator Flats has potential and is interested in several parcels of land. Your acreage is particularly attractive because of its waterfront and existing road access.”

I think of Della and wonder whether this is all connected. Dead vegetation, fucked-up water, men wanting her research stopped.

Is this man’s client responsible? But it feels too easy. Too simple a solution, for some reason.

Knox takes the whiskey bottle and pours Bennett another glass. He tops up his own. I haven’t touched mine.

“What do they want it for?” Knox asks.

“Development,” Bennett says succinctly.

“Obviously,” Knox says. “I’m not fucking stupid. But what kind? Livable community for families, or some golf and condo shit that locals won’t be able to afford?”

Bennett continues, apparently possessing none of the survival instincts God usually gives humans. “The important thing, from your perspective, is that the offer reflects not only the value of this parcel, but the inconvenience associated with relocation. We understand that an organization such as yours might have challenges finding a new location to meet your specific requirements.”

Beyond Bennett, Ridge picks up his coffee cup but meets my eye and mouths the word cunt.

Knox steeples his fingers. “How much?”

Bennett names a number, and even I sit back at the dollar value. He slides a printed document across the table to Knox, who immediately hands it to Lock.

It’s not billionaire money. It’s not enough for us all to retire. But enough to buy somewhere else, build from scratch, and probably have some left over. Lock flips through the sheets of paper. Then he leans toward Knox, covers his mouth, and whispers something that has Knox nodding in agreement.

Bennett knocks back the second glass of whiskey. “You should understand, however, that my client is moving quickly. We already have several agreements in principle, and with the wider construction permissions we…”

He stops, for a second.

But we all catch it.

“Wider construction permissions?” Knox asks. “So, this has already started.”

“I was speaking generally,” Bennett says.

“No, you weren’t,” I add.

I lean in the direction of his leather folio. There are several papers stacked on top of one another. I wonder if I could cause a distraction somehow. Knock it off the table so those papers fell out and we could see who is involved.

As if sensing my intention, Bennett slams it shut. “As I explained, my client’s commercial interests are confidential. I think, perhaps, it would be more productive if you took some time to consider the offer rather than focus on the irrelevant details.”

Knox nods. “Probably right.”

Bennett’s shoulders ease. “Excellent. I’ll contact you in forty-eight hours.”

Knox huffs. “Gimme a week. Need to speak to our national president. Need to take a club vote. Need to figure out where we’d go. That’s not a two-day event.”