“There had been at first,” Roger said. “Probably more than anyone knew.”
Forrest didn’t need another story about how much money his grandfather used to have, so he asked, “What was your involvement?”
By the way Roger leaned back and rubbed his chin, Forrest became concerned his instincts had been right, and he wasn’t certain what his response would be if Roger admitted his involvement in the opium trade.
“You know the reason Galen was arrested, don’t you?” Roger asked.
“The stories or the truth?” Forrest asked, growing exasperated. He now knew where Twyla got her antics from. “Or the fact the mastermind behind Galen’s opium trade was never implicated.”
Roger lifted a brow. “You think it’s me?”
It was a bit strange, the way Forrest had no problem ascertaining that Galen, the man everyone thought was his flesh and blood, was guilty, yet he didn’t want to believe that Roger, the biggest bootlegger in the state, wasn’t innocent.
Roger pushed away from his desk and stood, filling the room with a formidable presence that had endowed him with the nickname The Night. He walked around his desk, to the front, where he looked down upon Forrest and Ty, who were still seated. “I’ll never admit to some of the dealings I’ve been in that have got me to where I am, but, when comes it to having any dealings with Galen Reynolds, I’ll sing louder than a canary behind iron bars. I won’t be a fall guy for any of his monkeyshines.” He leaned a hip against the edge of his desk. “From the moment Galen took over the Plantation, it became little more than an opium den. The locals didn’t like it, but there wasn’t a lot to be done. At the time, opium wasn’t illegal, and our proximity to the multimodal hub of international cargo in Duluth and Superior gave easy access for the drug to enter the States. Especially once Congress passed a law that banned the import of all opium. Agents weren’t assigned to the Port of Duluth-Superior like they were along the coasts.”
Unfolding his arms, Roger pushed off his desk and walked to the window, where he stood silently for a moment, hands on his hips, as he gazed out the window. “That was fifteen years ago. I was working at the brewery, pinching pennies to feed my family and watching Galen throw money around like he was growing it in the basement. I’m not ashamed to say it ate at me, because it also gave me the drive to make changes to my own financial situation.” Turning from the window, he added, “But I never became involved in the drug trade. Not then and not now.”
“But you know who was, or is,” Forrest suggested.
“Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, I don’t,” Roger said, walking back toward his desk. “I won’t lie, I looked down that road, especially after Rose died and Galen accused her of killing his son. But in truth, there wasn’t anything I could have done. Not back then. The country was at war—someone peddling drugs wasn’t a big deal. I was ready to put a bullet in him again when he threatened Norma Rose and when I heard what he’d done to you, but death would be too good for him. Instead I put my ear to every wall he was behind, and when Ginger became obsessed with Hollywood, I knew it was time to act.” With a menacing scowl, he growled, “When she came up missing, all sorts of awful things crossed my mind.”
The look the other two men shared told Forrest there was more, a lot more, behind Ginger’s running away. He had to ask... “Galen was already in jail then. He wasn’t behind it, was he?”
“No,” Roger said. “Thank goodness. There were a few years where Galen thought I’d forgotten all about him and his acquisitions, which irritated him, and he tried to goad me into a confrontation. I never let him.It served me better to let him think I was focused on my own business adventure, but I assure you I knew every step he took. The past few years, when he started parading young girls around town claiming they were the new stars of his Hollywood film company, I took advantage of the Achilles’ heel he left wide open. I figured those girls were his way of transporting the opium to the west coast, and though I had no desire to get involved in the drug trade, I did make it a point to drop seeds. By then, I had more than enough money, and after ousting the local authorities he’d paid off, I found a few willing to prove they were doing their jobs.”
“And?” Forrest asked.
“And,” Roger said, “there wasn’t any opium.”
Forrest couldn’t believe that. Not only had Galen boasted about his drug trade, but just last week his mother had also suggested it was part of the evidence being submitted.
“From what I’ve already discovered,” Ty said, “Galen’s tracks go way back, to ruthless thugs out of the slums of New York. They aren’t just gangsters. They’re worse than that. They’re outlaws. Thieves. Murders. Drug runners. Traffickers. They thrive on corruption, and don’t let anything or anyone get in their way. Galen’s been their patsy for a long time, including in their opium trade. He did little more than oversee its transportation off the ships to the Plantation, where it was picked up.”
“By whom?” Forrest asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Roger said. “Once Prohibition hit, there were so many federal agents assigned to the Port of Duluth, the opium shipments went elsewhere. That’s when Galen increased the one trade he had been involved in, that of young women. He used mostly foreign girls, claiming they were part of his Hollywood studio. Gloria Kasper can tell you all about it,” Roger said, once again taking a seat behind his desk.
Forrest remembered Gloria Kasper, the doctor who now resided at the resort. She had lived there ever since her house in town had mysteriously burned to the ground.
Roger opened a drawer near his side and reached down to pull something out. “I knew Galen couldn’t make the kind of money he tossed around town trafficking women, and I knew the authorities wouldn’t chase him down over it, either, but this—” He tossed a wad of bills on his desk. “This caught the attention of the law here and in California.”
Forrest was more confused than ever. “Money? What about it?”
“It’s counterfeit,” Roger said.
“Counterfeit?” He hadn’t heard a word about that. Stretching forward, Forrest lifted several bills for inspection. “California banknotes.”
“Which stopped being printed fifteen years ago. Every time Galen went to California, he’d return with money, and lots of it. It wasn’t until an acquaintance of his came looking for some whiskey that I discovered it was counterfeit. I knew the man was working for Galen, but I sold him the whiskey, and turned the money over to Sheriff Withers. Some of it,” Roger added. “I saved some in case further evidence was needed. It wasn’t long before a trail was discovered, or several trails, considering Galen would take a different route each time he came home from California. He was passing off these bills all across the states. Paying for a pack of gum with a twenty and getting real money in exchange.”
“My mother never mentioned counterfeiting,” Forrest admitted. The girls, he’d known all about. Even though he’d been gone from home before Galen’s trips to California had started, there had always been a steady flow of young women through the doors of the nightclub.
“This counterfeit money was what he was laundering,” Roger said. “Withers found enough on Galen to choke a horse, and the bank was happy to press charges against him. Since it was a California bank, they sent state marshals out here to escort him out there to stand trial. They had enough evidence to put him behind bars. However, his counterpart, the person who was actually printing the money, hasn’t been found. That might be who has stepped forward now and is petitioning his release. They haven’t found where it was being printed, either,” Roger explained.
Which is the reason Galen’s so set upon returning to Minnesota. Forrest stopped shy of saying that aloud. More things were making sense than ever before. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his gut told him his mother was involved. Whoever had broken into the Plantation had been looking for something specific
and his mother’s nonchalant concern over that event told him more than he wanted to know.
“We’ll know who and where very soon,” Ty said. “The Federal Reserve is now involved.”
“Federal Reserve or not,” Roger said, “we’ll make sure Galen Reynolds never returns to Minnesota.”
Forrest stood. “That’s where you’re wrong. We won’t make sure Galen doesn’t return. I will.”
“Now, son—”
“I mean it, Roger,” Forrest said sternly. “I don’t want you involved in this.”
“Want or not,” Roger said, “we’re involved.”
Forrest turned and met the man’s gaze with one just as stony, just as cold. “Then back out. You may think you know how evil Galen is, but believe me when I say you don’t. Only someone who’s lived with him can know that.” Spinning around, he headed for the door, stopping prior to opening it. “And believe me, this time around, a dozen watchmen won’t be enough to keep your girls safe.”
A ball of raging fury was trapped inside Forrest as he exited the resort, and burned hotter when he sensed he was being watched. The curtain was pulled aside on the first window and there, not attempting to hide, was Twyla.
Their gazes locked and for a split second, Forrest was torn between heading for his car and going back inside to see how Twyla had fared against her sister. The fire in his guts burned all the way to his heels. Norma Rose may have gotten bruised by Galen all those years ago, but the stakes were higher this time. Twyla couldn’t keep her nose clean. She loved hidden treasures, and if she caught wind of counterfeiting...
This was one secret he’d keep from her. If it killed him, he’d keep it from her. Forrest lifted a hand and gave her a salute before spinning around and heading for his car.
Chapter Eight
During his drive home, Forrest forced his mind to shift away from Twyla and back to last fall. He had to focus in order to keep her safe. While remodeling the Plantation, he’d been in every room, every nook, cranny and alcove. There hadn’t been anything to indicate counterfeiting. No press or paper or ink, yet they had to be there, and finding the evidence was his only hope of keeping Galen behind bars.
He rehashed every conversation he’d had with his mother and became more convinced he was barking up the right tree. The only remark she’d made about the break-in was that there was no need to report it, that it must have been someone Galen had done business with. That said she knew more. If he only understood how and why. She didn’t love Galen, but she’d never left his side, either. Even now, she insisted upon living in California to be near him.
Questions continued to twist his mind as he parked and climbed out of the roadster behind the Plantation.
Unlike Nightingale’s resort, the Plantation was busy on Sundays. Entire families came to bowl a few games, and parents found a bit of solitude and respite in the coolness of the building while their children ran half-wild through the amusement park next door. Others rented the few sailboats Forrest had restored and spent the day on the water.
Jacob and Martha were more than capable of running the place, but Forrest rarely left them alone. An instinctual sense always had him on guard, as if he knew someone from Galen’s past was lurking nearby. All that had faded today, in the instant he’d considered taking Twyla flying. He hadn’t let his guard down since he’d arrived home last fall, and he wasn’t impressed he’d allowed it to happen today.
As Forrest sat down at his desk, just off the front entranceway of the Plantation, he offhandedly spun the propeller of the model plane sitting near the phone, watching the little wooden flaps go around and around. Taking Twyla flying had been a definite mistake. Even years ago, Twyla had been the sister he’d loved.
A knock sounded and the door opened at almost the same time. Jacob poked his head in and, seeing Forrest was alone, walked in and closed the door. “Did you talk to Roger?”
Forrest stopped the little propeller from turning. “Yes.”
“And?”
“You were right. He’s not involved in the opium trade.”
“I told you,” Jacob said. “What about the other thing?”
Forrest drew a blank. “The other?”
“Your airmail contract?”
Forrest shook his head. That had slipped further and further from his mind.
“You didn’t talk to him about that, did you?” Jacob said. “I’m sure he’d loan you the money to buy a new plane and once you got that government contract you—”
“I’m not asking Roger to loan me the money to buy a new plane,” Forrest said. “I’ve told you that.” A new plane was the least of his concerns right now.
“How else will you get that government contract?”
“I won’t.” Forrest stood and made his way to the window. There wasn’t much to look at, just the parking lot. “Did you know Galen was arrested for passing off counterfeit bills?”
“Counterfeiting? Is that what money laundering means? People kept saying money laundering and I didn’t know what it meant.”
Forrest turned around. “Don’t, Jacob—don’t pretend to be a simpleton around me. It may have worked on Galen, but I know better.”
Jacob sat down in an armchair near the desk. “All right. So I know what money laundering is, but I never heard so much as a whisper around here about counterfeiting.”
Forrest rubbed his head. “You made it your business not to.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why’d you stay here all these years?” Forrest asked. “You were never treated fairly, never appreciated.”
“I am now,” Jacob answered.
Forrest slapped the edge of the windowsill behind him. “I’m so tired of secrets. So tired of—”
“Because of you,” Jacob said.
“Me?”
Jacob nodded. “Your grandfather did something he wished he could take back, but it was too late. He was sick and knew his days were numbered. He asked me to watch out for you. To be here for the day when this place would become yours.” Then the man shook his head. “That’s not completely true, either.”
Forrest’s stomach sank, and he silently pleaded Jacob wouldn’t say he was in love with his mother. It was the only explanation Forrest had been able to come up with for years.
“Your grandfather paid me to be here for when this place became yours. Paid me very well, and in order to make sure I remained here, I’ve stayed on the sidelines, but never got directly involved.” Jacob shrugged. “It was selfish, too. I never wanted your mother to know how much money I have sitting in the bank. I know she’s your mother, and I won’t talk bad about her, but I will tell you, if she’d known, she’d have tried to swindle me out of it.”
Forrest rubbed his aching temples. This was certainly turning into a day of revelations.
“I told you when you started remodeling this place that I could help, and I told you I’d buy you a new plane, but you said no.”
“I figured you were talking about a loan from Roger Nightingale,” Forrest said.
“I know,” Jacob said.
Forrest turned back to the window as questions once again started gathering in his mind. “What did my grandfather do?” he asked. “That he wished he could undo?”
“I’ve said enough,” Jacob answered. “Your mother knows, ask her. She called again while you were gone.”
“I tried calling her before I left,” Forrest said. “There was no answer.” Glancing over his shoulder, he decided he wanted one more question answered. “Are you in love with her?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, but I do love her. Just like I love you. You’re the only family I’ve ever had.”
“She needs money,” Forrest said. “That’s why she’s calling.”
“Do you have any to send her?” Jacob asked.
Forrest clamped his teeth together. The only thing he had left to sell was his plane, and that galled him. Telling his mother to ask whoever was bailing out Galen for money occurred to him, but he knew he’d never resort to those measures. His mother was as much a pawn as anyone else in Galen’s life of schemes. She always had been, however it irritated him that she never saw it that way, or never tried to do something about it. “No, but I’ll think of something.”
“My offer to loan you some is as open as ever,” Jacob said.
The door clicked shut, but Forrest never turned from the window. A red coupe was pulling in the parking lot, and he certainly didn’t need to see the driver, or her yellow polka-dot dress, to know who was behind the wheel.
Not a single Nightingale had set foot on his property since he’d returned home. They’d visited the amusement park, Twyla in particular, but until they’d needed Slim, they hadn’t attempted to renew the friendship they’d shared all those years ago. He hadn’t expected it, not after all that had happened, and he’d known it would be up to him to make the first move.
Yet in the end he hadn’t made the first move, and now he knew why. If it had been Twyla that Galen had said all those things about, Forrest would have been back in town as soon as he’d been able to hobble. Actually, if it had been Twyla with him in his car that night, he’d have driven for the state line. Tried to get as far away as possible. But she’d been just been a kid. In truth, he’d broken things off with Norma Rose that night, told her he was leaving to attend Harvard. That had been another letdown. While recuperating at his aunt’s house he’d learned there was no money for Harvard, or any other college for that matter.
That was when Shirley had given him the deed to the Plantation and the several hundred acres where he’d built the hangar, but she’d told him that most of the actual money he’d inherited had gone to pay for his private schooling and college over the years. Shirley told him about numerous times his mother had come to her needing money for one thing or another, and she’d apologized for not overseeing his inheritance with more caution. His mother was her little sister, and despite everything, she’d felt responsible for her, up until that moment when Forrest’s injuries had broken the bond between his mother and aunt. He knew they hadn’t spoken in years. He’d used the last of his money for aviation school in Nebraska.
The Rebel Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 2) Page 13