Where the green grass grows ch 9

The Private Eye Battle

The iron gates of 953 Hillcrest Drive groaned softly as they swung open, letting a sleek, black sedan slip onto the cobblestone driveway. John Ross Ewing stood on the grand brick porch of the classic two-story house, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He looked out over the perfectly manicured lawn and the towering palm trees, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

To John Ross, this property was just a highly convenient, short-term lease—a comfortable staging ground to anchor his West Coast operations while he prepared to bleed Noah Hunter dry. He had absolutely no idea that these walls had once contained the teenage triumphs and heartbreaks of Brandon and Brenda Walsh. To him, it was just real estate in the right zip code. It was a complete coincidence, a random piece of high-end Beverly Hills luxury that happened to be vacant when his brokers threw down a massive stack of cash. He had already settled in, his luxury leather luggage resting in the master bedroom and a bottle of high-end bourbon sitting on the kitchen counter where Jim Walsh used to balance his checkbook.

He turned as the heavy front door clicked open. Gina Kincaid stepped out onto the porch, carrying a slim, encrypted leather portfolio under her arm. Her sharp heels clicked rhythmically against the stone.

"Beautiful place, John Ross," Gina said smoothly, her voice laced with an enigmatic charm. "Though I usually don't peg Texas oil barons for the traditional, cozy family layout."

"It’s just brick and mortar, darlin'," John Ross drawled softly, a sharp grin cutting across his face as he took a drag. "I just needed a quiet place to look over the ammunition you promised me. Did your scouts deliver?"

Gina patted the leather folder, her eyes flashing with a dangerous brilliance. "Everything you need to completely deconstruct Noah Hunter is right here. His direct wire transfers, the Vance Foundation's shadow accounts, and the exact routing numbers linking them to an international smuggling ring. You own him."

Unbeknownst to both of them, a clean, silver luxury SUV was parked half a block down Hillcrest Drive, hidden beneath the deep shadows of a massive overhanging eucalyptus tree. Inside the vehicle, Colonel Gedeon sat in the driver’s seat, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the house through a pair of high-powered surveillance binoculars.

His tactical earpiece crackled to life, the encrypted frequency buzzing with absolute clarity.

"Gedeon, report," Teddy’s voice came through the line, tight with authority and absolute desperation. This time, Teddy was taking the wheel. He wasn't about to let John Ross Ewing dictate the terms of the West Coast energy sector, and he certainly wasn't going to let Noah Hunter take the fall alone if things went sideways. "Do you have eyes on the Texan?"

"Affirmative, Teddy," Gedeon replied, his gravelly voice dropping into a low rumble. "Ewing has officially settled into that Hillcrest property. Short-term lease. But we’ve got a major complication. Gina Kincaid just arrived on the scene. She’s carrying a high-security document portfolio. If she hands those files over to Ewing, Noah is done, and the corporate fallout is going to take all of us down with him."

On the other end of the line, Teddy paced across his private study, his jaw tight. "I don't care about Gina’s reputation, Gedeon. John Ross cannot get his hands on that paperwork. You are officially ordered to launch a direct counter-intelligence strike. Intercept that courier packet before it leaves the property line. Do whatever you have to do to disrupt their pipeline."

"Understood," Gedeon said calmly, reaching down to unclip the safety harness on his tactical gear. "Initiating the strike now."

Back on the porch, John Ross reached out to take the portfolio from Gina's hand, but before his fingers could brush the leather, a sharp, deafening pop echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The driver’s side window of John Ross's parked sedan shattered into a spiderweb of white glass, a heavy ceramic tracking projectile embedding itself directly into the door frame.

Gina reacted instantly, her instincts from years with Jonesy kicking into overdrive. She tucked the folder against her chest and dropped low, utilizing the heavy brick pillars of the Walsh house porch as immediate structural cover. "We've got company, John Ross!" she snapped, her eyes scanning the street.

John Ross didn't panic. His expression morphed into a mask of pure, unadulterated Texas fury. He reached into his jacket, his gaze locking onto the silver SUV that was suddenly accelerating down Hillcrest Drive, its tires screeching against the asphalt as Gedeon moved in to cut off their exit.

"Well, now," John Ross growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register as he watched the spy vehicle approach. "Teddy just made the biggest mistake of his life. Nobody plays games on my porch."