Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

not what I’m doing.” Harlan realized he might’ve overplayed his hand. “I was just pointing out that my family has always been loyal to you, is all.”

“Good. That’s what I thought. But just in case the idea enters your head to use the small amount of knowledge you possess as leverage, don’t. If you so much as whisper one word in the wrong direction, I will hear about it, and then interest payments will be the least of your problems. Do I make myself clear?”

“Like spring water.”

“Excellent. I liked your father. I like you. It would be a shame for our relationship to end on a sour note.”

“On this, I think we can agree.”

“Wonderful.” Rossi removed his hands from his pockets and clapped them together. “I’ll tell you what. Take the extra time. I’ll give you two full weeks. Your father’s dedication and years of service have earned you some leeway. But don’t mistake my generosity for weakness. I shall expect your payment two weeks from today.”

“Thank you.” Harlan felt a rush of relief. He didn’t know what would happen in two weeks, but at least Rossi’s enforcers waiting in the corridor wouldn’t get to have any fun today.

“For a ten percent late fee, naturally.”

“What? Ten percent on top? You can’t be serious. That’s another sixteen thousand.”

“If you don’t like my terms, we can keep negotiating.” Rossi shrugged. He glanced toward the closed door, then back to Harlan.

“No need for that,” Harlan said quickly. He’d witnessed Rossi’s negotiating style before, and it involved a lot more screaming than it did talking. “Those terms are fine.”

“That’s what I thought.” Rossi took a step toward the door, then glanced back over his shoulder. “And since you offered, you might as well include next month’s payment too. Then you’ll be ahead of the game.”

This last demand left Harlan temporarily speechless. By the time he mustered up the courage to reply, it was too late. Rossi was already out the door and halfway down the corridor with his burly sidekicks in tow.

Harlan stood and watched him leave, then he turned and sat on a bench. He cursed his own stupidity. Why had he told Rossi he was transferring two months’ worth of payments? He was transferring squat. There was no offshore account. It was a spur-of-the-moment lie to buy more time. And it worked, to a degree. He had another fourteen days. But at that point he would need to pony up two full payments plus ten percent on top. It made him want to cry. He cursed ever going to Oscar Rossi for a loan. But there was no one else. He had tried the banks and credit unions and approached a slew of legitimate investors. With the way the casino’s profits had declined over the last few years, and his family’s reputation, no one would touch him. Which left Rossi, who jumped on the opportunity like fleas on a dog.

It was a terrible deal. A three-million-dollar loan at an eye-popping rate of interest. Sixty-five percent. Which was surely illegal, assuming any financial regulators ever got to inspect the paperwork, which they would not. But Harlan knew he had no choice. Either he renovated, or his business would keep sinking until he lost the hotel. With no recourse, Harlan agreed to the terms, figuring he would only need the loan for a few months, and then he could repay it in full once the hotel was operating again. With fully booked rooms, and a bustling casino, he could recoup the money in no time. Except Rossi neglected to include the early settlement clause, and instead strong-armed him into a loan for thirty years, which meant paying nothing but interest for two-thirds of that time. He had, in effect, unwittingly gone into business with Oscar Rossi. But worst of all, if he didn’t pay, Rossi’s enforcers would get to dance on his skull, just enough so he wouldn’t care about the hotel anymore. Then Rossi would swoop in and steal it out from under him. Between the two alternatives, Harlan would rather keep his hotel and avoid getting beaten to within an inch of his life, which meant coming up with the monthly payments. The only problem was, he didn’t have them. This was, Harlan thought, shaping up to be one crappy day, and he hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet.

Chapter Eighteen

Robyn spent the morning working in the saloon bar and listening to the hammering of the workers as they finished up the last rooms on the second floor.

She unpacked glasses of various sizes from boxes and stacked them on the shelves under the bar and then turned her attention to the newly restored bar back. It was ornate with shelves to hold liquor bottles and a mirrored glass backing etched with intricate designs. Original to the building, it had deteriorated badly over the decades. At first, Robyn thought it would need to be torn out, but then she changed her mind and decided to keep it, despite the high cost of restoration. In the end it had taken a team of three carpenters almost four weeks. It was worth it, though. She wanted to save this magnificent piece of history, not only because it added authenticity to the hotel but also because of its history. On a normal day, she would’ve looked at this rescued piece of the Old West and marveled at the things it had witnessed. Bar fights settled by lead, drunkenness and debauchery, and decades of prospectors quenching their thirst.

But not today.

Robyn tried her best not to think about what had happened in the mine, but the three deaths weighed heavily upon her and so by early afternoon she packed it in for the day. She went to the kitchen and made lunch. While she was there, the two FBI special agents wandered in, so she made them a meal too. Ham and cheese sandwiches with plenty of mustard. The three of them ate at the kitchen table with Tieg