Page 87 of Stone
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Adrenaline flooded Stone’s system, and he yanked Juliana behind him as he pinpointed the source of the noise. The door to the granary bounced against the wall and a figure, backlit from behind, stalked toward them. Stone couldn’t see his features, but he recognized the form. For whatever reason, Archibald Griswold had inserted himself into their plan.
Lowery, Polinsky, and Gregor had all spun and now pointed their weapons at the professor. Stone had very nearly pulled his, too, but he’d had enough presence of mind not to—he may not have known what the hell was going on, but he did know that three-to-one odds were not good for him and Juliana. They’d be safer if no one knew he had a gun—at least for now.
“They keep playing along because he pays them to,” Griswold announced. “It started out as straight blackmail, but now Polinsky and Lowery are making a pretty penny on the deals as well,” he announced.
“Who the fuck are you?” Lowery demanded.
Griswold, dressed in a Grateful Dead T-shirt and cargos, strode into the room as if three guns weren’t pointed at him.Stopping opposite Stone and Juliana, he crossed his arms and glared at everyone.
“Archibald Griswold. I’m your worst nightmare,” he said.
“Cliché, don’t you think?” Gregor said.
Griswold shrugged. “I’ve worked for the army for nearly fifty years. I know people and things you couldn’t even dream of, son. And I have a particular dislike of crooked soldiers. The army is a shithole to begin with, and people like you are the degraded pile of liquid shit at the bottom of that cesspool.”
Stone bit back a chuckle while Juliana turned a little green at the description.
Lowery cocked his head. “You hate the army, but you’ve worked for it for nearly five decades?”
Griswold slid him a look. “It’s too complicated for your simple mind to grasp. And I don’t explain myself to anyone.”
“But you’re going to explain why you’re here, right?” Juliana asked. Griswold hadn’t been part of their plan, and Stone wanted to know the answer to that as well.
Griswold studied her, then swung his gaze to Lowery. “You have an offshore account in the Caymans—talk about cliché—with a sum just shy of eight million sitting in it.” He slid his attention to Polinsky. “And you were a little more cautious and opened one in Switzerland. As of this morning, it has an amount of $12,314,253.”
Polinsky blinked. “How the hell would you know that?”
Griswold tipped his head in response. “Interesting that Polinsky has more than Lowery, isn’t it? Sure, Lowery used his payouts to lobby certain friendly commissioners. Commissioners who help push through whatever crooked plan Gregor asked,” he said, more than asked. “But Polinsky’s been spending money, too. Paying cops off. And still, he has more. Do you think he’s being paid more than you?” he said, directing the comment to Lowery. “Or is he overstating the kickbacks andskimming the top?” He directed that question to Gregor. “Either way, now we know why the three stick together. Lowery and Polinsky aren’t the victims they like to think they are.”
“Who the hell are you?” Gregor repeated.
“Asked and answered,” Griswold shot back, although the question hadn’t been a real question, more of an existential comment.
“They know which officers are on your payroll, Dean,” Lowery said, leafing through the papers.
“Like hell they do. I paid in cash, and there’s no way to trace it. They may think they know, but there’s no proof.”
There might not have been proof before his comment, but between his statement and their research, they had enough evidence now. At least on Polinsky.
“What else is there?” Gregor asked Lowery.
“Records of my land use votes as well as donations to campaigns that benefited your development work,” Lowery answered.
“Which doesn’t prove anything,” Gregor said.
“When coupled with the account we found in the Caymans? Sure it does.” This came from Juliana, and Stone shot her a look. He was not pleased that she’d brought herself to their attention again. Especially not when Griswold was doing a good job of holding it on his own.
She shrugged, then as if to appease him, inched closer.
“What I found most interesting, though, was Gregor’s time in New Orleans,” Griswold said.
Stone’s brows dropped. What the hell had Griswold been up to? They hadn’t seen him at the clubhouse since that first day, and although Viper had been keeping him appraised, they’d seen neither hide nor hair from him.
“You don’t know shit about New Orleans,” Gregor said, sounding oddly like a disaffected teenager and not a man in his early sixties.
“Roman Veselka? Vitaly Mikhelson?” Griswold said.
