Page 26 of Stormy Knight

He wasn’t about to let them see him sweat.

The ledgers in front of Reeves weren’t just numbers on paper. They were the skeleton of a well-oiled empire, each page a subtle reflection of the intricate web they’d built over the years. Behind the legitimate fronts, each one a carefully placed piece of the puzzle. Each piece constructed to help hide the network of illegal businesses.

Reeves flicked through the detailed financial records for the CPA firm. A firm his late uncle had owned. The firm, now largely a ghost operation, did nothing more than shuffle money and create paper trails that could pass any audit or investigation that might come up.

It was a nice touch, having a prestigious name on the books, giving everything the appearance of a well-managed business. Every transaction was a delicate move, making sure the family’s illegal money was neatly tucked away inside the shell corporations.

Laundering money through businesses seemed too mundane to be scrutinized too closely had always been their bread and butter. The laundromats, of course, were the most obvious money-laundering tool. Cash transactions, bags of dirty clothes and linens, little oversight—who could ever question it? But the trick wasn’t just cleaning the money; it was making itblend in. That’s where the liquor stores, the deli, and the slaughterhouse came in. Each business, no matter how different from the next, was a piece of the machine that made it all run smoothly.

Reeves stared at the ledger entries. He could see the patterns—how the illicit gains from therealbusinesses were hidden behind layers of complex transactions. The key was to make sureeverythingappearedlegitimate on paper, even as the real money was being siphoned off into other accounts. He could already feel the weight of what was coming. If he was going to take over the consigliere role again, he’d have to make sure all of this remaineduntraceable… no loose ends, no sloppy mistakes.

Reeves flipped through another ledger, this one detailing the high-dollar escort business. It was part of a larger network, one that catered to the rich, the powerful, and the dangerous. The family had a reputation for discretion, which made their operation especially appealing to their clientele. No questions, no drama—just satisfaction.

The girls weren’t the typical run-of-the-mill escorts you saw on street corners or on the back pages of magazines. These women were high-end, sophisticated, and had been carefully selected. They were trained not only in the art of seduction but in the art ofcustomer service. Whatever the client wanted—whether it was a night at the opera with a gorgeous arm candy or something far more unusual—they could provide it.

Reeves read through the detailed accounts of their clients’ requests. It was shocking honestly, how far some people would go for the right price. One client had requested a private screening of a film with a woman who would eat cupcakes while bouncing on a large rubber ball. No sexual contactat all. Another wanted a “discreet” encounter that included a visit to a custom-built sex dungeon, complete with restraints, costumes, and a carefully curated selection offantasiesto play out.

The girls who worked for the family were more than just pretty faces. They weretrained to read their clients, keep them satisfied, and most importantly, keep their mouths shut.

He skimmed the part about the gunrunning operation. While the girls and gold were a lucrative side of things, the guns were riskier. They weren’t as easy to move and required a lot more planning, especially given how far the family was from anymajor ports. The guns were brought in and out by planes. Small private jets that could go under the radar and land on short runways hidden in remote parts of the country.

The gold. Now that was another matter entirely. They bought it cheap, in bulk, through a network of dealers who weren’t exactly scrupulous. The family didn’t sell it immediately, though. They hoarded it, letting the price appreciate over time. The idea was to use it as both an asset and a way to pay foreverything else, overseas shipments, bribes, and other costs that couldn’t be easily explained through normal financial channels. Gold was always valuable, no matter the situation.

The ranch was a world apart from the rest of the family’s operations. It wasclean, in the sense it didn’t have illicit dealings or underhanded schemes. Monroe had always taken a keen interest in it, seeing it as both a way to diversify the family’s portfolio and to maintain a legitimate front.

It was a successful agricultural business. Cattle, horses, land, oil… the sort of things that made a man feel like he had his hands in somethingsolid. Monroe had his hands full with the day-to-day: buying and selling livestock, overseeing the ranch hands, and managing the growing oil operation Jennings had handed them. It was a good operation, one that kept the family in a stable position, especially given the volatility of their other ventures.

Reeves, on the other hand,didn’tenjoy the business side of things. He never had. The livestock transactions, the paperwork, the mundane dealings with suppliers and buyers bored him. It was as predictable as the weather, and there was little room for finesse or strategic thinking. No, for him, the actual heart of the ranch was in the barns, in the stables, in the connection he had with the animals. He loved the feel of leather reins in his hands, the sound of hooves pounding the earth, the thrill of a powerful horse finally coming into its own after hours of training.

There was something about working with horses that cleared his head in a way nothing else could. When he was on the back of a horse galloping across the fields, the world melted away. Therealworld. The one filled with schemes and money-laundering, drug deals, and weapons shipments was miles away. The only thing that mattered was the animal beneath him, its movements, its muscle, its spirit. Breaking and training horses wasn’t just about control, it was abouttrust, building a bond with an animal that could easily take you down if you didn’t have the right touch.

It was a visceral experience, one that grounded him in a way the rest of his life didn’t. He’d been training horses for years. They didn’t lie. They didn’t have ulterior motives. They didn’t hide their intentions. When you spent time around horses, you learned to read them, and maybe, just maybe, it gave you a better sense of how to navigate the murky waters of the family business.

Reeves leaned back in the chair, the weight of the ledger pressing into his palms as his gaze drifted through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside the windows, the back fields rolled out into the horizon, a patchwork of lush green pastures, the scent of earth and hay drifting on the breeze. Beyond the fields, nestled against the backdrop of trees, the roofline of the new barn barely peaked above the land, just a hint of its large, sturdy frame.

The new barn had been a necessity after a fire had taken out the old one—one of the most devastating losses the ranch had ever seen. It hadn’t just been the building. It had been the horses. A dozen of them, purebred, the pride of the ranch—gone in a single night. The fire had moved so fast. The flames swallowing everything in its path, but it was Jackson who had borne the brunt of the tragedy. He’d been the one tasked with putting the horses down, one by one, as they ran across the pastures, some with their skin burned badly by the fire theywere already close to dying. Others trapped in the burning barn. There had been no other choice. Jackson had said it himself later, his voice distant and cold when he recounted the grisly task. It was a part of the business none of them talked about, the things that had to be done when you were in the game they were in.

Reeves rubbed his thumb across the edge of the ledger, the rhythmic motion of the pen tapping against the page the only sound in the room. The office felt stifling—far too cramped and too full of paperwork for a man like him, especially on a day like today.

The stables were calling. The horses waiting to be worked. The barns ready to be tended to. The freedom of it. Gripping the pen tightly, he made a snap decision. Enough was enough. He would not let the paperwork rule his day. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He needed tofeelsomething real today… something that didn’t involve numbers and business deals.

Sitting behind a desk, buried under a mountain of paperwork, wasn’t how he saw his life. He hated the feeling of being trapped, tethered to the office, buried in numbers, contracts, and spreadsheets. His brothers, especially Monroe, had a way of piling the paperwork on him whenever they could, knowing how much he detested it. But Monroe’s priorities had shifted with the oil venture, and Jackson was always moving from one deal to the next. They had no problem dropping the “business side” of things onto Reeves. He was the one who handled the numbers, the one who kept everything from falling apart. But right now, he didn’t want tothinkabout any of it. He didn’t want to count the dollars or keep track of the shell companies. He wanted to beoutside, not stuck inside.

He had to admit; it was wearing on him.

The ranch, the horses, the stables, those were the moments when he felt like himself. Breaking and training horses had always given him an adrenaline rush he couldn’t get anywhere else. It was the kind of high that came from being fully in the moment, fully connected to something real and raw. The ranch work was hard—dirty, physical—but it kept him grounded, even in the chaos of everything else. But now, it felt like that side of him was being squeezed out by the endless paperwork. He wanted to feel the wind in his face, the thud of hooves beneath him, the satisfaction of a horse responding to his commands.

Instead, he had spent his time sitting there looking at the fields, tapping his pen, wishing he were anywhere but there. The ranch was supposed to be the refuge, the one place they had that was free from the family’s darker dealings. It was a legitimate business, after all. But lately, even the ranch had felt like another cog in the machine, another place where he was expected to be “business Reeves,” not the guy who worked the land, the horses, the stables.

A low sigh escaped his lips as he stared out at the barn, remembering the fire—the lives lost, the work that had gone into rebuilding. It had taken months to get the new barn up and running. But that night, the fire had been a reminder that no matter how much they built, no matter how much they worked to protect their empire, everything could come crashing down in an instant.

Jackson had looked haunted for weeks after the fire. He wasn’t the type to show emotion, but that night had shaken him. He’d been the one to make the call, to end the horses’ suffering. It wasn’t something Jackson liked to talk about, but Reeves could still see the haunted look in his eyes when he came back to the house that night. It had been the kind of thing that stuck with you, haunted you in the quiet moments when you were alone in your thoughts.

Reeves tapped his pen again, more forcefully now, frustrated by how little progress he was making on the accounts. His mind was elsewhere, out on the ranch, with the horses, with the land. He wasn’t made for sitting in this office, working over ledgers and watching the clock tick by. The thought of spending another minute stuck inside made his skin crawl.

With his jacket in hand, he walked out. The horses were waiting.

Reeves sighed when the air cool hit his face as he walked through the back door, into the open air. The smell of the barn hit him first, rich and familiar, and for the first time in hours, he could breathe. The fields stretched out before him, the barn in the distance, a beacon of something that still felt likehis.

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