Bill drove straight to Glacier Bank to get there before closing and had the teller make out a cashier’s check to Knight Industries for $100,000. He tucked the check into his inside jacket pocket and dialed Richard Knight’s private number. Knight said he was just finishing up eighteen holes and would meet him for a late lunch at the Whitefish Lake Golf Club restaurant in an hour. s**t! Not another three-hour meal.
Shit! The Whitefish Golf Club was on the edge of town at the southernmost tip of Whitefish Lake. When Bill arrived, Knight was waiting for him, sipping wine at a table on the patio. What should have been a stunning view across the smooth emerald fairway onto the rugged snow-tipped mountains was hidden behind a hazy mask.
“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.” Bill ex
