“Not from him, the big baby,” Darcy laughs, then raises an eyebrow. “Well?”
“You and that dog, both of you never let go of something once you sink your teeth into it,” I grumble, then nod. “I know it hurts, but I had to be sure, Darcy. I had to know we could take them down, even if Jackson backed out. And the plan's too far advanced now to change it.”
“Well, you've broke that boy's heart,” Darcy continues, and I wince. Still, I deserve it. “When Andrea called me up telling me what he's been up to the past few weeks, I nearly broke with the plan early. He was about to put himself in the damn hospital he's so broken up.”
“I know, Darcy. I know. I regret it, but things are moving now. When the dam breaks, and the cops have both Samuel and Peter... I'll talk to him. I've already made arrangements with Nathan.”
“And afterward?” Darcy asks, and I know what she means. Once the information hits the media, in addition to taking down the DeLaCoeur empire, there's going to be a lot of other people looking for blood. New Orleans isn't going to be safe for me anymore, even as a ghost. Too many ghosts get exorcised in New Orleans, and voodoo only works so well.
“Afterward, maybe Katrina Grammercy needs to go away,” I say quietly. “But I'm pretty sure Coup De Grace will still be hanging around online.”
Darcy nods, and I see a tear come to her eye. She wipes it away, and forces a smile. “I can live with that. It'll be good to see you out there. It'll be good to know... to know you do have a future.”
“With luck, we'll all have futures,” I reply. “I love you, Darcy.”
“I love you too, Katrina. Take care, Baby Girl.”
She hangs up, and I can feel in my heart the meaning behind Darcy's farewell. We know the truth, that she won't be able to go with me, and that the next time we see each other may be the last. If there is a next time.
I sit back, waiting the few minutes before turning on the Miami local stations. I'm tapped into the satellite feed each station has with their national desks, and I see that it's the Fox affiliate who gets the feed up first.
“Breaking news from our crime desk. The FBI and Miami-Dade police have found within our city a man who, for the past ten years, everyone thought was dead. Fox's Billie Wagner is on the scene with more.”
The scene cuts from the studio to a news van outside the apartment complex where my parents live. The on-site reporter, a kind of young guy maybe a few years older than me, looks like he's halfway scared out of his mind, probably because until this point he's only done human interest stories, kissed puppies, and played with children for the morning show. Billie just strikes me as that sort of guy.
“Yes guys, I'm outside this apartment just south of the University, where an amazing story has come to light. It seems that this man...” the screen cuts to an ID photo of my father, “who for the past ten years has lived and worked in the Miami area under the name Michael Ball, is in fact not who he seems to be.”
It continues, but I've seen enough. I turn off the feed and pull out my phone. Tapping quickly, I send a text to Nathan.
Has Jackson come home yet?
No, but I think he'll be here soon, maybe within a half hour. I've prepared the way as best I can. Why?
It just went down in Miami. He doesn't have a lot of time before Peter knows something's up.
I understand. I'll inform him, make it seem like I got a call. He'll let the gates open here.
Thanks. Take care of him, Nathan. And deliver my message.
I will. Thank you for your mercy.
You have more accounts to balance than just ours. Consider it a gift if Jackson comes out safe. If he doesn't...
I understand. I'll text you when it's done.
I hang up the messages with Nathan and sit back. There's nothing I can do now, except hope that whatever powers have watched over me the past ten years can watch over Jackson now.
Another idea comes to mind, and I make another call, this one to Andrea.
“Hello?”
“It's me. I know voice communication is dangerous, but I don't have a lot of time. It just went down in Miami, and I have one more idea I just had. This one... this one's for Jackson.”
Andrea sounds suspicious, but hums. “What do you need?”
“I want to get every cent I can from Peter DeLaCoeur. For Jackson. Can you help me?”
Andrea laughs, and I realize she and I have had similar mindsets all along. “You're a little late. I've already been doing it. Give me fifteen minutes and you'll have the number and passcode to a numbered account in the Bahamas. It's one of his smaller ones, but it's all I've been able to verify.”
I smile, thinking about just how generous Andrea's being. “And you?”