Miles stands then. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He stalks toward Peterson, his hand raised, finger pointed in his face. “She’s the sister of a victim and she has a clear conflict of interest. There’s no basis for losing a job. Right, Shankle?”
“Miles,” Mr. Shankle says. “As your attorney, I advise you to stop right there.”
“You’d best listen to your attorney there, Bridger.” Peterson is visibly sweating at his hairline.
He should be. Miles Bridger is an imposing presence.
Mr. Shankle continues, “Like my client said, I hope you know you just threatened this woman’s job based on her recusal when she has a clear conflict of interest in this case. I’m not sure what your sheriff would have to say about that.”
Peterson says nothing. He just slinks out the door without asking me to leave with him again.
Miles takes his seat and grabs my hand. “What have you got?”
“I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Hopkins,” Mr. Shankle says, “because this definitely concerns you as well as the Bridgers.”
It’s amazing that my life is intertwining with Miles’s, but I never expected it to go down like this.
23
MILES
We sitin silence as Shankle recounts what he found out from his associate.
“Apparently you were on the right track,” Shankle says, looking at me. “Joseph Hopkins was involved with the EPA. But not in the way you might think.”
Sadie’s eyes widen. “So he wasn’t a trucker? He wasn’t hauling freight?”
“Not exactly. You may or may not know, Ms. Hopkins, that the Department of Justice is getting ready to open an investigation into some properties owned by the Bridgers.”
She drops her jaw. Obviously, she didn’t know.
“We had nothing to do with any of this, Sadie.” I set my hand on top of hers.
Chance shakes his head. “Hell no.”
She blinks. “Right. I know that, of course. But…I thought you all were ranchers.”
“You don’t make billions solely by raising beef,” Shankle says.
“Our father had outside investments.” Chance shifts in his seat. His big frame makes the chair squeak. “Several of which were apparently violating EPA regs.”
“What kind of investments?” Sadie wonders.
“You’d be surprised at what kind of companies have hazardous chemicals to dispose of,” Shankle says. “Hospitals, for one. Any business that uses paint, and that’s a lot. Any type of industrial cleaning company. Heck, any kind of industrial business. Mining. Oil. You name it. Jonathan Bridger dabbled in all of those and more. According to the DOJ, he cut corners with hazardous-waste disposal.”
“Why would Jonathan Bridger cut corners like that?”
I squeeze Sadie’s forearm. “From what I’ve gathered, he was a shitty man. All he cared about was money, pure and simple. Proper disposal of hazardous chemicals costs a lot of money. Doing things right is a lot more expensive than doing them easily. I should know. I have to adhere to strict regulations when I’m disposing of motor oil and other chemicals I use in my business in New York.”
“Does it really cost that much to follow regulations?” Sadie pushes.
“More than you think. For a small operation like mine, it’s not going to break the bank. But for Bridger? He probably saved millions by not following the rules.”
Sadie rubs her forehead and then her temples. “So we’ve already determined that your father wasn’t a good man. But how does Joey fit into all of this?”
“He must’ve been working undercover for the EPA,” Chance says. “Right Shankle? Or maybe the FBI or the DOJ?”
“First of all”—Shankle clears his throat loudly—“the DOJ doesn’t operate undercover. But your brother wasn’t working for the government, undercover or otherwise.”