[s2e6] Hold What: You Got

Holloway finally looked down at the pouch. He knew what was in it. It was the payout from the three-ton haul they’d run across the state line two nights ago—the one where the tires were screaming and the engine block was glowing cherry red in the dark. It was supposed to be the money that cleared the books. "You're short," Holloway stated.

"To the bank. To the state. To whoever's buying up the bottom half of this county this week. Does it matter?" [S2E6] Hold What You Got

"The boy didn't come back," Holloway said, his voice sounding like gravel being turned with a spade. He didn't look at Miller. He looked at the window, where the rain was just starting to turn the red clay outside into a slick, impassable soup. "Left his truck. Left his tools. Left the bay door unlocked." Holloway finally looked down at the pouch

He didn't wait for a reply. He pushed through the screen door, letting it slap twice against the frame. Outside, the air smelled of ozone, wet iron, and diesel. Miller popped the collar of his jacket and walked out into the deluge, leaving the old man alone with a pouch of dirty cash and a garage full of dead men's tools. It was supposed to be the money that cleared the books

Miller didn’t care about the history. He only cared about the grease-stained ledger sitting on the desk between them.

"He didn't leave," Miller corrected him. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, leather-bound pouch. He didn’t open it. He just set it on the ledger with a dull thud . "He just got traded."