Ch. 15 | Clean Hands, Dirty Empire

The Lago Tierra Community Center gleamed under the desert sun, its white stucco walls immaculate, the polished glass doors inviting only the right kind of residents. Grant LaDeaux punched in the door code. Regular residents didn’t get access—this was a perk of having a man on the inside. David, a former college frat brother, still came in clutch when needed.

He stood in the main lounge, tapping the back of a leather chair with two fingers. Everything here was new, high-end, and carefully curated—just like him.

At least on the surface.

He checked his watch impatiently. David was late. Typical.

Grant’s eyes drifted to the framed photographs along the wall—ribbons from HOA tournaments, plaques boasting community service awards. An ironic smile tugged at his mouth.

Appearances. Always appearances.

It was a code he'd learned young. His mother—Regina LaDeaux—saw to that.

Back home in South Carolina, the LaDeaux name was stitched into every charity board, country club, and headline. Regina was the perfect Southern matriarch: polished, gracious, ruthless. She smiled through scandals, smoothed over rumors with a squeeze of a shoulder or a well-placed check.

Grant had been her favorite. The charming, clever son.

And when he slipped up—stupid things, reckless things—she handled it.

A covered-up DUI at seventeen. A “misunderstanding” with the neighbor's daughter at nineteen.

Every mess wiped clean before it touched the family name.

His father, meanwhile, had barely noticed. Busy bedding socialites and interns, too drunk or disinterested to correct anything.

Grant grew up knowing two things: You could do anything... if you looked good doing it. And women were either ornaments... or obstacles.

He liked women. In fact, he liked them too much.

Especially the ones who resembled his mother—elegant, proud, untouchable.

Lynn Nichol. Laura Bishop. Anne Grier.

All beautiful. All trophies he could possess, if only for a while.

Grant scowled slightly, remembering Clara Bishop—Laura's teenage daughter.

The brat had caught him chatting too long with her friends after youth group. Had given him that sharp, assessing look.

She saw him.

It unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The door creaked open, snapping him back to the present.

David Cabrillo strolled in, phone in hand, casual as ever.

Grant forced a grin. “Finally.”

David didn’t rush. He took a slow look around the pristine room before joining Grant near the windows.

“You wanted to meet,” David said flatly.

Grant hated how the man spoke now—like an equal.

Back at ULV, David had known his place. He’d known it when Grant needed someone to pin the assault on.

One girl. One mistake. One payoff.

And the LaDeauxs had made it all disappear.

David got kicked out, but not before signing his silence away.

Grant, meanwhile, graduated clean.

And now... now David had the gall to act like they were peers?

“I wanted to touch base,” Grant said, injecting fake warmth into his tone. “Make sure we’re all good.”

David leaned back, unimpressed. “Depends what you mean by good.”

Grant bristled. “Meaning?”

David shrugged. “Meaning the neighborhood rumor mill is heating up. First Janice. Then Anne. Now Lynn. Affairs are meant to be quiet. And people talk, Grant. Even the dumb ones.”

Grant stiffened, masking it with a chuckle. “People have short memories. This’ll blow over.”

David studied him. “Maybe. Or maybe Clara Bishop keeps noticing who you linger around after youth group.”

The mention of Clara made Grant’s hand twitch involuntarily. He folded his arms to hide it.

“You need to be more careful,” David said quietly. “Or someone’s going to start connecting dots.”

For a moment, the old dynamic sizzled between them: Grant, the golden boy who’d once owned everything, and David, the scapegoat who’d taken the fall.

Only now, the resentment was a living thing, crouching behind David’s measured voice.

Grant smiled thinly. “Well, you’re still on the team. Actually, I’ve been thinking... director of social media and content. Full salary. Full benefits. LaDeaux Lifestyle needs people I can trust.”

David raised an eyebrow.

“And,” Grant added smoothly, “I could get you into the hospital gala next month. Big players. Big money. Good networking.”

David gave a slow grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Already invited.”

The words hit Grant harder than he expected. His smile faltered.

“Oh,” he said, recovering quickly. “Well, great. Guess you’re moving up.”

“Guess so,” David said, voice flat.

They both stood. A mutual disengagement.

David clapped Grant lightly on the shoulder—a touch so brief, so calculated, it made Grant’s blood boil.

“You take care of yourself, Grant,” David said, walking off. “You tend to get... messy.”

Left alone, Grant seethed.

Messy.

The help needed to remember his place.

Yanking out his phone, Grant punched out a text to a contact labeled only by initials. The message was brief, sharp, and full of venom.

Whatever was brewing, Grant wasn’t going down without a fight.

Until then, a night with someone pliable would do.