Grayson
“Tell me you have it.”
“And hello to you as well,” Maria said. “You ready?”
“I’ve been ready for the past half hour,” I said. “Hit me with it.”
I jotted down the number I had Maria track down for me before I settled the penc
il onto the kitchen counter.
“Are you sure that’s the number you want?” Maria asked. “It sounds like you’re on some wild goose chase.”
“Yep. That’s the number. Thank you,” I said.
“What’s gotten into you, Grayson?”
I closed my eyes at the sound of my voice.
“Maria, I don’t have time for this.”
“Are you at least making progress on the house?” she asked.
“I have to go.”
“Mr. MacDonald.”
“What, Maria?”
“Things going that well with the girlfriend?”
I gritted my teeth together as she sighed on the other end of the line.
“When are you coming home?” Maria asked.
“I’ll let you know. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing.”
“At this rate, I might as well own your vineyard.”
“Goodbye, Maria.”
I hung up the phone and felt like an asshole, but I couldn’t rally the effort to call her back and apologize. I didn’t need one of Maria’s motherly lectures. I didn’t need her advice. And I sure as hell didn’t need to be spilling my story to anyone else until I could figure out what the hell was going on. Everything in my world felt as if it had tipped up on its side because of that damn picture, and I wasn’t going home until I had answers to everything.
Michelle included.
I punched the number into my cell phone, then held it up to my ear. The number I had her track down was for a Brian Christley, the scout who recruited me for my college football team over a decade ago. I wanted to know the story behind that picture. No one stood by a coach or a scout the way Anton had without knowing someone. Without having some sort of a plan in the works. Whether it was simply to vouch for me or whether it was something more, I had to know.
Because ever since finding that album, it had been my latest distraction.
My mind swirled with all sorts of questions. Did Anton somehow pave the way towards that college scholarship? Had Anton greased someone’s palms in order to get it for me? I wasn’t a stranger to the idea of feeding someone money to get something to turn in my favor. And with the kind of wealth Anton had, I could only assume he wasn’t a stranger to the same notion. No one amassed the type of wealth he or I had without paying out for a few favors.
And after doling out Anton’s entire fortune and seeing how generous the man had been without batting an eye, I couldn’t put it past him to have done something like that.
But why? If that was the case, then why did he do it?
“What?”
My eyebrows hiked up as the gruff voice on the other end of the line answered.