Ch. 16 | The Quiet Ones Make the Moves

David sat in his truck, engine off, parked across from the Lago Tierra Community Center. The place was pristine under the buzzing security lights — not a single cigarette butt or stray leaf in sight. Appearance over substance. Just how Vesna liked it.

He wasn't rattled by Grant’s theatrics earlier. If anything, the meeting confirmed what David already knew: Grant LaDeaux was sloppy, greedy, and getting worse by the day. He always had been. It was a miracle he hadn’t imploded yet. David smirked slightly at the thought.

He wasn’t the resentful kid from ULV anymore — the one forced to swallow the fallout after Grant’s little "mistake" during their fraternity days. He had survived being framed, survived the LaDeaux money machine, and survived getting pushed out of polite society. Being underestimated had become his sharpest weapon.

David had no loyalty to Vesna either. He didn’t need to see a single HOA ledger to know she was skimming. She was too obvious. The overpriced events, the quietly shuttered amenities, the new jewelry. He hadn’t cared — not until the Grier lien landed in his lap like a wrapped gift.

The Griers' house. Prime real estate. Paid for by their arrogance and their debts. All he had to do was stay quiet while Vesna flailed — and make sure no one noticed him pulling strings from the background.

He glanced at his phone. A text blinked from Vesna earlier: We need to be united for the upcoming election. United. What a joke.

Grant was more dangerous right now than Vesna. His appetite — for women, for power, for attention — was a liability. Especially after Lynn Nichol started snipping at him about church behavior. And David caught the way Clara, that sharp little brat, looked at him too. If Grant got messy, it would spill onto everyone — even those smart enough to keep their hands clean.

David drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He needed to start thinking two moves ahead.

He composed a quick text — not to Vesna, not to Grant. Someone else. A precaution. A thread to tug if things got out of hand.

His thumb hovered for a second before he hit send. Always better to make a move before they realize you’re in the game.

He rolled down the window slightly and breathed in the dry, sharp Vegas night. Out here, it wasn’t about being good or bad. It was about surviving smarter than the next man.

And David intended to survive just fine.