Mitch Caddo, a young law school graduate and aspiring political fixer, is an outsider in the homeland of his Anishinaabe ancestors. But alongside his childhood friend, Tribal President Mack Beck, he runs the government of the Passage Rouge Nation, and with it, the tribe’s Golden Eagle Casino and Hotel. On the eve of Mack’s reelection, their tenuous grip on power is threatened by a nationally known activist and politician, Gloria Hawkins, and her young aide, Layla Beck, none other than Mack’s estranged sister and Mitch’s former love. In their struggle for control over Passage Rouge, the campaigns resort to bare-knuckle political gamesmanship, testing the limits of how far they will go—and what they will sacrifice—to win it all.But when an accident claims the life of Mitch’s mentor, a power broker in the reservation’s political scene, the election slides into chaos and pits Mitch against the only family he has. As relationships strain to their breaking points and a peaceful protest threatens to become an all-consuming riot, Mitch and Layla must work together to stop the reservation’s descent into violence.Thrilling and timely, Big Chief is an unforgettable story about the search for belonging—to an ancestral and spiritual home, to a family, and to a sovereign people at a moment of great historical importance.
The season's first shiver comes on Thanksgiving morning, five days before the election.
It starts with a slight shudder when I see the dead leaves and pine needles standing defiantly through the soft snow that blankets the Passage Rouge Indian Reservation and builds as I scrape the frost glaze off my windshield. I drive through what's left of the Old Village, where my grandparents and ancestors once survived the harsh winters. By the time I drive past the blind corner outside the Chippewa Super, where ten years ago my mother eased her car onto Highway 92 and into the path of four high school kids with a handle of E&] brandy and a stolen 1994 Pontiac Grand Prix, the shiver is chattering my teeth together. Then I'm standing in the parking lot looking up at the log cabin façade of the Golden Eagle Casino and Resort, briefcase in hand. The outward tremor passes, and I think of a question my mother never lived long enough to ask me: Mitch Caddo, what, exactly, are you doing here?
The season's first shiver comes on Thanksgiving morning, five days before the election.
It starts with a slight shudder when I see the dead leaves and pine needles standing defiantly through the soft snow that blankets the Passage Rouge Indian Reservation and builds as I scrape the frost glaze off my windshield. I drive through what's left of the Old Village, where my grandparents and ancestors once survived the harsh winters. By the time I drive past the blind corner outside the Chippewa Super, where ten years ago my mother eased her car onto Highway 92 and into the path of four high school kids with a handle of E&] brandy and a stolen 1994 Pontiac Grand Prix, the shiver is chattering my teeth together. Then I'm standing in the parking lot looking up at the log cabin façade of the Golden Eagle Casino and Resort, briefcase in hand. The outward tremor passes, and I think of a question my mother never lived long enough to ask me: Mitch Caddo, what, exactly, are you doing here?
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