Chapter Eleven
The map made no sense at all to Reggie.
He played a lot of basketball instead of going to class, so he never learned very much and never learned to think in the abstract or envision things that could be.
But even he could tell that this plan wasn’t right.
“Whadya mean there’s gonna be houses?” he asked, glaring at the man across the table. He then looked from side to side at his investment partners sitting on either side of him, his former teammates who had dipped deep into their retirement funds for this venture, for help. They remained silent.
“This isn’t what we want,” Reggie complained. “This is practically in the middle of town. There’s no privacy. It doesn’t look anything like that place in Texas.”
The man across the table was John Lambeth, and he knew this would
