Read Online Sins of Our Fathers (9781571319128) by Shawn Lawrence Otto - Free Book Online

picturesque result had earned JW a feature article in Banking magazine and a Community Banker of the Year nomination. Since then, business was up sharply.
    He pulled in, bumping up over the curb cut. A large carport supported by thick log posts and iron stanchions sheltered the drive-through lanes. The grounds were well landscaped, with a chain-saw sculpture of a leaping trout on the front strip of grass. He angled into a space marked by a small brass lawn sign that read President.
    The morning’s rising heat hit him hard as he stepped out. The lawn sprinkler heads hissed, wetting the sidewalk. Schmeaker’s black Charger with its red NRA bumper sticker was already parked in his spot, which was marked by a similar sign that read Vice President.
    With morning had come clarity. He was still the president of North Lake Bank. He could get a short-term loan to consolidate his debts. He would call Carol to apologize. It was all manageable. He pulled open the front doors, fully reinhabiting the persona of the competent and successful bank president, the man invited to speak about his successes around the Midwest. He was, truly, among the very best at what he did, and that counted for something.
    Sandy smiled up at him.
    â€œSandy.”
    â€œGood Morning, Mr. White. Mr. Jorgenson’s here to see you.”
    â€œJorgenson?”
    That was a strange bit of news. JW walked back to his office to deposit his things on his desk. He wondered what could have caused Jorgenson to make the four-hour drive andarrive by nine in the morning, when he had just seen him yesterday afternoon.
    JW snugged his tie and headed for the conference room, a wood-paneled space centered by a long table. Its red surface was rich with morning light slanting in through wooden blinds. Jorgenson sat at the far end, poring over some papers.
    â€œFrank! Is something wrong?”
    Jorgenson looked up from the paperwork. His face was inscrutable.
    â€œClose the door, John.”
    JW corrected course, surprised at Jorgenson’s tone.
    â€œSure.”
    He closed the door and touched the button to turn the blinds down slightly, as a courtesy more than anything, and began walking between the wall of windows and the long table.
    â€œEverything all right?”
    â€œNo, John, I’m afraid it’s not.” Jorgenson set the papers down and sat back as he neared. “I didn’t sleep last night. I got up at four in the morning just to come and see you, so I could find out what’s going on up here.”
    JW’s heart sped up. Had he discovered the loan? “I don’t understand.”
    Jorgenson picked up his smartphone and thrust it toward JW. The screen glowed with colors.
    â€œTake a look at that.”
    JW took it and examined the image. Two men pored over a roll of blueprints spread over the hood of a truck. Behind them rose the pale ribs of a new building. He was surprised to recognize one of the men.
    â€œThat’s Johnny Eagle.”
    â€œThe one from your talk yesterday. And he’s at the buildingsite that Sam Schmeaker’s been e-mailing me about, the one that’s going up on the edge of town. Just took that this morning.”
    JW looked up at him. Jorgenson was clearly irritated. “What else do you know about him?” he asked.
    JW put the phone down. He didn’t, really. Not much more than the story in his presentation. “Moved back to the reservation after his wife died, little over a year ago.”
    He pulled his right cuff farther down his wrist. His white shirt and collar felt constricting under his jacket, as if they had become twisted somehow.
    â€œHave you been keeping track of this building project?” said Jorgenson.
    â€œThere’ve been some grumblings about it at the Sunrise Rotary, but—” He hadn’t paid any particular attention. They had just started putting it up ten days ago or so. “It’s on the edge of the reservation. They haven’t