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Dear readers, it seems the bushes are back in business.

A little over a year ago, we told you about a Southern California club where thieves exploited a blind-spot par-3 and the membership's trusting habit of abandoning their bags. A Rolex disappeared. An envelope thick with cash followed. The bushes were removed, the culprits were not, and everyone pretended the lesson had been learned.

Well. Consider this our sequel.

This time the setting is the desert. Specifically, one of the most storied and prestigious private clubs in the Coachella Valley, a place where the fairways are immaculate, the membership list reads like a sports almanac and the post-round ritual involves something you will not find on any Venmo history: rolls of hundreds, peeled off by hand, settled up in the parking lot like it is still 1987. Which, in certain respects, it is.

This club has a reputation. PGA Tour players are known to make pilgrimages here specifically for the cash games, big ones, the kind where the numbers would make for uncomfortable reading if they ever became public. The members who participate are not the type to fumble with payment apps. They come prepared and they play for keeps.

The course itself is a cathedral of palms lining every fairway with privacy hedges ringing the property perimeter. One hole on the front nine runs adjacent to a road bordered by undeveloped lots, quiet and unassuming. A perfect place, as it turns out, to not be seen.

The setup will feel familiar to longtime CCC readers. On that particular hole, players have developed a habit, a perfectly sensible one, of leaving their bags short of the tee box and walking up to hit. The clubs get picked up on the other side, fifty yards ahead. Convenient, and as it turns out, profoundly exploitable.

The big money game came through on an otherwise unremarkable morning. The usual players, the usual stakes, cash tucked into pockets and bags. When the round concluded and members gathered to settle up, the first wallet opened to nothing. Then the second. The cash was gone, not misplaced, not forgotten in the cart. Gone.

What followed was the kind of controlled outrage that only very wealthy, very composed people can manage - faces still, each man calculating not just what he'd lost but what it meant that someone had known exactly where to look.

The club moved quickly. And here is where this story diverges sharply from its predecessor.

Management was certain, not suspicious but certain, that this was an inside job. The thieves had known which game to target, the timing, the hole, the gap in visibility and the precise window in which a bag could be rifled without detection. That kind of knowledge doesn't come from casing a property. It comes from working there.

So management did something blunt and, frankly, rather elegant. They assembled the bag room and cart barn staff and offered them a choice: come forward now, or everyone goes.

No one came forward. So everyone went.

The mass termination created what you might call a crisis of loyalty among the recently unemployed. It turns out that when a group of people suddenly find themselves out of work and the path back runs through a single piece of information, the wall of silence lasts exactly as long as you would expect. One by one, former employees began returning to management with names. The culprits, who had apparently assumed their colleagues were the omertà type, were sold out with remarkable efficiency.

The arrests followed. Grand theft charges cover quite a bit of ground when the stolen item is literally denominated by the grand. The employees who cooperated got their jobs back, the landscaping crew cleared the relevant bushes and weekly perimeter checks were added to the property maintenance schedule.

Justice, for once, was swift. The club won, and the members got something almost as good as their money back - they got a story.

The lesson, offered gently as always: if you are carrying large amounts of cash onto a golf course where employees know your habits, your stakes and precisely how long your bag will sit unattended, remember that not everyone inside the gates is emotionally invested in your scorecard.

Some people are tracking numbers that never make it onto Golf Genius.

Why do you think John Johnson left alone that fateful morning?

⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ An urgent work emergency
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩 A far more urgent domestic emergency
⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ He misunderstood the bylaws
🟨🟨🟨⬜️⬜️⬜️ He trusted the escorts to do the right thing

We’re in agreement with the majority here. Ol’ JJ probably had some splainin’ to do after being out all night. However, the fatal mistake was that last option! Thank you to all of you that voted and commented!

Don’t forget to catch up on past stories at ccconfidential.vip - and while you’re at it, tell a friend!

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