Chapter 29

Surprised as I am by Hugo’s request, I have no reason to refuse, so I don’t.

For the next week, behind the scenes, I plan Hugo’s event. He sends the guest list over as requested. Aside from one shellfish allergy, the list itself is fairly straightforward. I recognize many of the names as anchors of the news’ channel, or frequent guests. Many big politicians too.

People who have been to a ton of events and know the usual drill. They expect a certain level of quality but they aren’t looking to celebrate or be fussed over. Mostly, they likely just want to drink beer and golf.

My job is to make sure that happens smoothly, so everyone can network and enjoy themselves.

The only name that truly worries me is Amber’s. As she works as a journalist, I’m not overly surprised to see her listed there. Miles, blessedly, is not on the list. Given that, I imagine Amber and I can give each other a wide berth. I doubt we need to talk to each other at all.

By the time, the day of the event rolls around, everything is perfect. The wait staff, eager for the good tips an event like this would bring, all show up on time, with smiles ready. The greenkeepers look proud of their work – as they should. The course looks lush and healthy.

We’ve arranged a few stations throughout the course for golfers to break under large umbrellas and enjoy a refreshing beverage or cold water. Likewise, all of the bathrooms dotted here and there have been cleaned to perfection.

I give the course a drive through on my own golf cart, inspecting everything. There will be no issues like at the mounted shooting event. No stray boars or spooked horses. I’ve even called in game wardens this past week to walk through the forest and nearby grounds, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Everything, it seems, is ready for the day.

The only possible thing that could have a chance to ruin this, is the guests themselves. That’s ever a worry. People cannot be as easily controlled as grass length and cart placements, especially once the alcohol starts flowing.

Even the most dignified persons could still become unruly with enough booze in them. Sometimes, those same people became the absolute worst, especially if they were already corrupted by power.

Hopefully, that doesn’t come to pass today.

Think positive, Esther, I tell myself.

The worries hold for a while, though everything gets swooshed away when Hugo arrives. He looks like a professional golfer in his baby blue polo shirt and light pants. The watch on his wrist is likely more expensive than my car, though he doesn’t make a show of it, often hiding his hands in his pockets.

He is nearly swarmed by his fellow guests, and he greets them each with a smile – though not, I notice, with a handshake. Instead, he keeps his hands firmly planted in his pockets.

Eventually, as he makes his way through the other guests, he spots me and begins moving in my direction.

“I hope you brought your clubs,” he says to me, smiling.

“They’re already on the golf cart,” I say. Fortunately, Garnar didn’t pay much notice last night, when I went into the garage and removed my golf bag. He’d been too busy ogling my sister in her tight yoga pants while she exercised in the living room.

“Great,” Hugo says. “Let’s go.”

Hugo and I ride in one golf cart, while a pair of his executive friends close out our foursome. They have their own golf cart, and their own problems it seems. The two spend much of their time talking and generally ignoring us.

“They’re brothers,” Hugo explains, while we’re riding to the tee of the second hole. “I know their mother. She’s lamented that the only time they speak to each other is when they are forced to. I thought pairing them up might help. They seem to be talking.”

“Arguing, more like,” I say.

“Any exchange of words is a good one, per their mother.”

I hum. “You are a good man, to try to accommodate them.”

“It’s for their mother’s sake.” He laughs lightly. “I’m no hero, Esther. Not in this. I just want to stay on their mother’s good side.”

“Who is their mother?” I ask.

Hugo glances at me as he stops the golf cart under the shade of a tree near the tee box. “Senator Grace.”

I gasp. “I thought they looked familiar.” So did the name when I read through the guest list. But Grace could be a common surname, so I didn’t want to assume.

I should have assumed.

“Senator Grace is a great advocate for the network,” Hugo says. “She’s always willing to provide soundbites and opinions. The people love her.”

My father would get along great with Hugo and vice versa.

Honestly, I admire him as well. He could see the angles but he’s not malicious about it.

“If I can keep her happy, and get her sons to talk, it’s really a win, win,” Hugo says. He takes his driver out of his golf bag and moves to the tee box.

He swings, and it’s a beautiful shot.

Everything continues smoothly – until we reach the end of the ninth hole, halfway through the course.

There, the group ahead of us are being rowdy. They stand near the bank of a small lake, chipping balls into the waters.

“I seem to have missed the green again,” one laughs. He waves his club toward the water. “Go in and get it, caddy.”

The caddy – provided by the country club – pales. I don’t blame him. While we attempt to monitor the wildlife on the country club grounds, there could still be snakes in those waters. Even if there isn’t, there is no obvious indication about the depth of the water.

The caddies, though paid well, do not make enough to give up their dignity, especially at the potential cost of snakebites and drowning.

“What’s the matter?” mocks another guest. He flashes a wad of cash in his wallet. “You are supposed to do as we say if you want a tip.”

“Stop the cart,” I tell Hugo, who does so at once.

With Mr. Carter and Paige both gone for the weekend, I am in charge here. These are my employees to guide and to protect.

No one disrespects my employees on my watch.

Stepping out of the cart, I storm to the scene.

“No one go into that water,” I tell the caddies, who seem immediately relieved to see me. This is likely not these guests first altercation with the caddies, then. I’ll need to inquire further, when we are safely away from these men. Or they are safely away from us.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, lady?” scoffs one of the guests. He throws his club down onto the ground and storms toward me. He’s wobbly on his step, clearly drunk.

Great.

“You trying to ruin our fun?”

“No,” I reply. “I’m trying to maintain the fun for everyone.”

“Bullshit,” says one of the other men.

I get the feeling these men aren’t going to leave quietly. And without security nearby, I need to be able to handle this another way.

“In fact,” I say, “I want to challenge you.”

The one in my face, the leader, blinks at me. “What kind of challenge?”

“We play the next hole together. If you do better than me, I let you continue on doing what you are doing…”

One of the guys laughs.

“But when I win,” I continue, “You have to apologize to the caddies, and then leave the premises. Quietly.”

The four guests looked at each other, and then at me. “Honey, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

I could have said the same to them.