“Talk,” I said and dropped into my chair.
Gramps leaned forward and tapped a folder in front of him.“We found a name.Maybe.Old political money.Think… legacy donations, silent land investments, dark money PACs.Name’s Hollis Kettler.”
“Kettler?”I repeated.“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Swift shrugged.“Word was he got out of politics, moved to Oregon, and went quiet.But he still owns property all over Wisconsin.Some of those properties?Show up in the paper trail tied to fake businesses we think are connected to The Ledger.”
Swift sat forward.“And guess who funded some of those businesses early on?”
“Kettler,” I muttered.“Son of a bitch.”
“It’s just a theory,” Sully added.“But if it’s true, this dude has money, connections, and a reason to want people like us out of Madison.”
“Why?”I asked.“What threat are we to him?”
Wheels shrugged.“Gentrification.Investment.People don’t like clubs; they bring heat, headlines, and noise.Maybe we’re just inconvenient.”
“Or maybe it’s more than that,” Swift muttered.
Before I could ask what he meant, a scream ripped through the building.
Tempi.
I was out of my chair before anyone else moved.“Move!”I barked, already sprinting toward the bar.
We burst out of the hallway just in time to see Cord hauling ass through the open front door.Glass crunched under our boots.The front window was shattered, jagged edges of broken glass still hanging from the frame.
Tempi was behind the bar, sitting on the floor, holding her arm.
“Fuck!”I dropped to my knees beside her.“Tempi.Doll.Talk to me.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered, though tears welled in her eyes.“It was just glass.I think.”
“Chewy, Nugget, Hodge, Magnum, GO!”I roared.“Cord’s already after the guy.Don’t come back without him.”
They didn’t even nod, just sprinted out the door like bloodhounds on a trail.
Sully held up another brick wrapped in a scrap of paper.“We’ve got a note.”
“Read it,” I said, eyes still on Tempi’s arm.
Sully unwrapped it, grimaced, and read aloud: “This is your last chance.Leave or it all burns.”
Tempi flinched.I gritted my teeth.
“Bathroom,” I said, scooping her up.“We’ve got a med kit in there.”
“I can walk,” she said softly.
“I know you can.”I kicked the door open and set her gently on the counter.“But I need to take care of you.”
I grabbed the giant first aid box from under the sink.She eyed it warily.
“That’s not a kit,” she muttered.“That’s a trauma unit.”
I smirked.“You’d be surprised how often we need it.”
She hissed when I cleaned the cut on her arm.It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding good.A piece of glass had nicked her just above the elbow.I kept one hand on her knee as I worked, just to keep her grounded.To keep me grounded.
