The Ranger

by Julia Justiss

  “No, anything connected to what we’re working on would have been recent.”

  “Some sort of bank fraud, I’m guessing.”

  Brice merely nodded, not being at liberty to give them any details. “Thanks for your help.”

  Not surprised, but a little disappointed, he walked back with Tom to his office. Bullies had always angered him, and he looked on those who committed financial fraud as just another kind of bully. Rather than earn money legitimately, they stole from others, justifying it by saying, “the rich can afford it.”

  Unfortunately, though the rich might be able to afford it, all too often salaried bank officials and small-time investors got caught up as collateral damage in their schemes, losing their jobs or their money for not catching on to the fraud.

  He couldn’t wait to get the final piece of evidence that would guarantee a successful prosecution and send the current perpetrator to prison.

  “Have time for lunch?” Tom asked.

  “I’m supposed to meet Mary on her lunch hour,” Brice said. “We don’t normally meet during business hours, so it must be important and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Getting kinda hot and heavy there, aren’t you?” Tom asked.

  “Things are progressing,” Brice said noncommittally. The last thing he wanted was Mary’s neighbor teasing her about their involvement—putting her on the spot to either confirm or deny a relationship. “But nothing official. So please don’t say anything to anyone—especially not to Bunny.”

  “She’d be over the moon if her two favorite people got hitched.” Tom laughed and slapped his desk. “Hot damn! Girls all over Texas should be weeping tonight. I think this Texas Ranger has taken himself off the market.”

  Frowning, Brice held up a hand. “Don’t be planning the bachelor party yet. You know how wary Mary is. If she thinks she’s being pressured to make a choice, she may back away.”

  “Back away before you get her lassoed for good?” Tom said, grinning. “Okay, I’ll keep it under my hat, but I couldn’t be more pleased. For both of you.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s hardly a done deal yet, for either of us, so zip-lip on this.”

  Tom sobered. “If there is a chance you two might get together, I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. She’s a sweet girl, and I can’t think of anyone who would deserve her more than you. Before you go, though, there’s one other thing.”

  On the point of turning to go out, Brice halted. “What’s on your mind?”

  Tom motioned him to a chair and curious, Brice sat down. “I’m glad you came in today. I was debating calling you about this, but technically, it’s an ethically questionable area. I got the info in confidence, and privacy issues should prohibit me from saying anything. But since it involves your brothers and the Triple A, I thought I should let you know.”

  “What about the Triple A?”

  “As I’m sure you know, Duncan and Grant applied for a small business loan to do the renovations on the Scott barn, to turn it into a venue that could be used to host events for kids, veterans, agricultural meetings and so forth.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “Rich, who handles small business loans for us, let slip to me yesterday that he was really conflicted about the progress of the loan. He’d been about to approve it at the usual rate when one of the board of directors came into his office and told him he didn’t think the application qualified under the most-favored rates. That since the ranch had been around for a long time and was a large business, it should be charged a higher corporate rate. Brice, the repayment period on that type of loan is short and the interest rate would significantly increase the monthly payment. Rich didn’t want to issue the loan under those terms, but the board member made it clear that he would be watching, and if Rich valued his position at the bank, he better make the loan on the terms the member suggested.”

  Duncan was going to be furious, and Grant would probably want to take the loan officer apart limb from limb. “Did he tell you who the board member was?”

  “Not outright, but I can probably guess. Knowing the bad blood between your brother and Marshal Thomason, I’d guess that it was Carl Wagner—who, you may remember, is the brother-in-law of Henry Thomason, Marshall’s father. Fair or not, the Thomasons still wield a lot of power around this town. I can see why Rich is so torn over this.”

  As angry as he knew his brothers were going to be, Brice jumped up, pacing the room as he thought rapidly. “What happens next in the loan process?”

  “Rich will call your brothers in to look at the terms of the loan, which they can then either accept or reject.”

  “Has that meeting been set up yet?”

  “I’m not sure. But it should be soon.”

  “I’d better go talk to them right away, then.”

  “I would. Oh, and one more thing. Elaine said in one of her yoga classes some of the bigwig ladies in town attend, that Melissa Thomason, Marshall’s mother, was talking about how his latest project would bring an exotic hunting ranch to the area. How good it would be for business, more tourists coming into the restaurants, bars, and shops.”

  A hunting ranch for exotic animals? The words of one of the ranchers he’d questioned in the Diner came suddenly back. Why deal with animals that are hardly worth spit in a good year? Said he’d stock something better than that.

  Brice felt like slapping himself on the forehead for not having thought of that possibility. Big-game ranches had sprung up in several areas of the Hill Country and West Texas. Originally stocked by excess animals sold by zoos, the ranches obtained expensive trophy fees from hunters who wanted an African safari experience right at home in Texas.

  To be fair, some of the ranches didn’t permit hunting and acted instead as wildlife refuges dedicated to building up stock of rare and endangered species, often exporting some of the animals back to their native lands where their numbers had been depleted.

  Those that did sponsor hunts, though, made lots of money. In addition to their hefty charges for lodging, meals and hunting guides, he’d heard the trophy fee for a guest successfully bagging even one of the more common animals, like an oryx, started at about four hundred dollars. For something more rare, like sitatunga antelope or a black wildebeest, the fee could run as high as fifteen thousand dollars.

  He looked up to see Tom watching him soberly.

  “Exotic animal hunting ranch. Yes, that would make sense. Nothing for him to do but buy the animals, hire a manager, and rake in the profits.”

  “Triple A land would be a prize addition. All those hills for ibex and antelope to climb, a long river border with natural water, hundreds of acres in pristine condition. Sorry, Brice. Hope you can work something out.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Tom. I’ll tell my brothers not to let on that they knew the terms had been changed before they arrive for that meeting.”

  “Appreciate it. And no problem—my conscience is mostly clear. Teammates stick together. Especially when the family of one is about to get screwed by a guy who never broke a sweat doing anything useful in his life.”

  Giving Tom a nod, Brice walked out. He had to be in New Braunfels this afternoon, and he needed to see his brothers before he left town. Regretfully, he was going to have to cancel lunch with Mary. Fortunately, they now knew each other well enough that he didn’t think she would take it as a brush-off.

  After hopping into this truck, he texted Mary, “Had something come up about the ranch. Need to see D and G before leaving town so won’t have time for lunch. Do dinner later this week?”

  With a grumble of irritation, he sent the text, then another to both his brothers, telling them he needed to meet them at the McAllister ranch house immediately on a matter of great urgency.

  Texts sent, he started the truck and headed out to the Triple A.

  They might never be able to pin the harassment episodes on Thomason, but this financial maneuvering pretty much proved to Brice that he must have been behind them
. Thomason would have known that paying a higher rate on the loan needed to make the improvements that would offset the loss of their herd bull’s stud fees would strain the ranch’s slender cash reserves to the limit. Maybe, if Thomason was lucky and the price of beef dropped, reduce their income enough to force them once again into having to sell off land or risk foreclosure on loans they no longer had enough cash income to pay.

  Time for a strategy session. The McAllisters might not have the money the Thomasons boasted, but their family had been born and bred in these limestone hills for over a hundred and sixty years, and no slimy rich-boy wuss was going to drive them out now.

  By the time he reached the ranch house, Grant’s vehicle was parked by the door. As Brice climbed out of his truck, his brother walked over to meet him.

  “So what was so important that we needed to circle the wagons immediately?” he asked, coming over to give Brice their traditional one-armed brother’s hug. Waggling his eyebrows, he added, “Got an important announcement to make about a certain lady? Given how much time you’ve been spending in Whiskey River lately, I wouldn’t be surprised. Since I doubt it’s my or Duncan’s congenial company that’s bringing you . . .”

  Looking at what must be the thundercloud expression on Brice’s face, Grant let the sentence trail off. “This is something serious, isn’t it?”

  Brice nodded. “Is Duncan here? I’d rather tell you both at once.”

  “In the den, having lunch. Harrison’s in her office, working on the stud books, trying to see what we could rearrange with the customers who’d been counting on using Halsey this year, see if maybe they would accept one of the other, less-experienced stud bulls. For a lower fee, of course,” he added, sighing. “Abby’s down at her shop, so we can talk without being interrupted.”

  Duncan rose as he entered, giving him a hug. “Harrison made some of her mother’s famous chili last night. There’s plenty, if you’d like to heat a bowl for lunch, and soda water’s in the fridge.” Unlike Grant, his always-serious older brother didn’t make any attempt at a joke.

  Anything that touched the ranch was deadly serious to Duncan. Which, given the endless hours of work and worry he’d put into running it over the last decade, Brice understood completely.

  After all three brothers were seated, food before them, Brice briefly summarized what Tom had confided to him. “I guess Thomason figured after the income loss the death of Halsey represented, it was time to go for the kill with a financial deal that would break the Triple A,” he finished.

  Grant jumped up, swearing, but Duncan just held out a hand, motioning him to calm.

  “Thanks for calling everyone here, Brice. I was going to try to get us together anyway. I got the notice this morning to meet at the bank tomorrow—in the mail. Strange, I thought, because usually Rich would just call or text me. The notice said something about ‘terms of the loan may have been changed to reflect current bank rates.’ So I already suspected something was up. But there’s more bad news.”

  “What else?” Grant demanded.

  Duncan picked up a piece of paper and held it up. “The property tax bill for the ranch. The assessment of the land value usually goes up a bit every year—funny how it seldom goes down, no matter how bad a year it’s been,” he added bitterly. “But the bill we just got is significantly, eyebrow-raisingly higher than last year’s. In the small print, it said the added evaluation is for the ‘capital improvements to the barn, on property formally known as the Scott Ranch.’”

  “But those improvements haven’t even been made yet!” Grant said angrily.

  “Fortunately, I know a little something about property taxes. I never just get the tax bill and pay it until after carefully comparing my year-to-year records to determine what the percentage increase is. Although this significant an increase should have opened any rancher’s eyes, even someone with a much larger and more profitable spread who doesn’t usually pay too much attention to tax bill details.”

  “So what can be done?” Grant asked.

  “And who makes the assessments?” Brice added.

  “Charity Johnson is the county assessment officer. She’s young and hasn’t been on the job long. I suspect her mortgage, and maybe credit cards, were issued by the same bank where Thomason Senior’s brother-in-law is on the board.”

  “So she, like Rich, could have been subjected to some pressure?” Grant said.

  “And most likely from the same source,” Brice added. “It all comes back to Thomason.”

  “Boy, I wish I could rearrange his pretty face,” Grant said hotly.

  “The assessor might have salved her conscience by knowing anyone who looked closely at the bill could get around it. For one, property can only be assessed for its value on January first of the current year. Well before we were even thinking of converting the barn to other uses. Then the estimate of the assessed value is sent in May. The one we got indicated a slight increase, but nothing on the order of this one,” he said, holding up the paper. “If the property were reassessed at a higher value later, the law says we have to get a copy of the reassessment and the reasons for it. We’ve received nothing. Finally, the property owner has the right to appeal the reassessment to an appraisal board. Which would never uphold a jack-up in value for a future project. She could send this out, getting whoever was pressuring her off her back, knowing that unless we were total idiots, we wouldn’t end up having to pay the increase.”

  “How could she be sure you’d check it closely?” Brice asked, not as charitable as his brother.

  Duncan shrugged. “Probably figured if I wasn’t smart enough to keep a close eye over my own finances and got screwed, it was my fault.”

  “So what do we do?” Grant asked. “The property tax can be handled by an appeal of the appraisal, which you say we won’t have any trouble winning. What about the loan?”

  Duncan blew out a breath. “We’ll have to figure something else out about that.”

  “More satisfying than rearranging Marshall’s pretty face would be torpedoing his deal,” Brice said.

  “I don’t know,” Grant said. “Right now, the idea of rearranging his pretty face is awfully appealing.”

  “So how do we call off the bank?” Brice asked.

  “Aside from putting out a hit on the double-dealing board member? I hear we know a Texas Ranger sharpshooter.” Grant sighed. “That’s only partly a joke.”

  “Better to have all the responsible parties present and accounted for, so they get to witness the destruction of their plans. Okay, Thomason and his clique have exercised a lot of influence in this town for a long time. Only the Kellys probably have more pull—though fortunately, they remember where they came from and would never play a dirty trick on a fellow rancher. Maybe it’s time we harnessed the power of all the ‘little guys.’”

  Brice looked up, a surge of excitement replacing his anger. “I think I know where you’re headed with this. You were recently elected president of the local Cattleman’s Association, weren’t you?”

  Duncan nodded. “Let me make some phone calls. Then, when we go into that meeting tomorrow, we’ll be locked and loaded.”

  “What’s your plan, bro?” Grant asked.

  “We’ll talk with Rich first. This might be much ado about nothing. But if he has been pressured to change the loan terms, we go straight to the bank president. Tell him that our family has been doing business with his bank for three generations, but if he supports the board member in changing the loan terms, we will take our loan application, and all our other banking business, somewhere else, permanently. Not only us, but every other rancher in the association.”

  “When you make that call to the other members, you might also tell them about Marshall’s underhanded dealings. Tell them it might be better for Whiskey River’s reputation as a town where honest, hardworking people live if they use a different firm, any other firm, for any future real estate transactions.”

  “Good idea. If Thomason goes thro
ugh with his plan to put an exotic animal hunting ranch on the lowland property he’s already bought, there isn’t much we can do.”

  “I don’t know,” Grant said with a slow smile. “I understand they require miles of high fencing, and we all know how vulnerable to damage fences are.”

  “If it wouldn’t put us on his level, I’d be tempted,” Duncan admitted. “So, are we in agreement?”

  “Absolutely,” Grant said.

  “I have to go to San Marcos this afternoon, but I could come back tomorrow and make that meeting with you, if you want,” Brice offered, still simmering mad and almost looking forward to a confrontation.

  “Thanks, little brother, but you don’t need to rearrange your schedule. I think Grant and I can handle it. But we’re indebted to you for keeping your ear to the ground and finally flushing out what Thomason’s true intentions were. We might never be able to nail him for the damage those incidents caused the ranch, but putting a spike in the wheel of his business dealings will still be totally satisfying.”

  “You’re that sure the other ranchers will back us up?” Grant asked.

  Duncan gave him a look. “Can you name me anyone who grew up around here—other than his townie friends—who likes or trusts the guy?”

  “Good point.”

  After a glance at the clock, Brice said, “I’d better head off to New Braunfels. Have to meet a court official.”

  “Any closer to bringing that current case to a close?” Duncan asked.

  Brice held up his thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart. “This close. And after tracking him for months, it’s going to be so satisfying to put this guy away.”

  “Score another one for the good guys,” Grant said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Go get ’em, Texas Ranger.”

  *

  Back in his truck, driving out toward the main road to New Braunfels, Brice heard a text ping. Figuring it was Mary, he pulled over.

  Canceling lunch no problem. May have to go out of town for a few days, library business, which was what I was going to tell you. Text you when I get back. She ended it with some “kiss” emojis.