Page 43 of Scammed

They spoke further about how to make this work, and then Code walked toward them with a piece of paper.

“What’s up?” asked Nine.

“We got an anonymous call from Mercy Hospital in Pensacola. A man was taken into the emergency room shot twice in the back. Someone dropped him off but left. The man is now conscious and called the Gray Wolf line.

“He said that he wanted to warn us about a man named Tim James who is obsessed with a painting that we own. Sound familiar?”

“Very,” frowned Marcel. “I can go with a few of you to this man in Florida. Perhaps he can tell us how to locate Tim James.”

“Jacques,” said Amy, looking at the others. “Jacques is French for James.”

“He never was very clever,” smirked Marcel.

“Sirs,” said Spencer from behind them.

“Hello, young Spencer. How are we today?” asked Marcel. Amy smiled at his jovial way of speaking to the boy. He was going to be a wonderful father.

“I’m good,” he giggled. “You’re funny, sir. I did some research on the Hermes group. The people who own the non-profits. It’s that guy you just mentioned, Tim James. It’s not a group. It’s just him. He steals all the money from the organizations that he hacks into leaving the virus, then makes them an offer to buy them so the boards won’t get put in jail for missing funds, then he merges them into one big non-profit.”

“Has he made an offer for Prometheus?” frowned Marcel.

“He did,” said Matthew, walking up to the group. “But I made a better offer, and they sold it to me. I knew a few of the board members and gave them an old-fashioned lecture about how they’d been running Prometheus and how they treated Amy. Prometheus is owned by the Robicheaux Philanthropic Group. End of story.”

“Matthew, that’s too generous. You’ve put yourself at risk,” said Marcel.

“I’ve put nothing at risk. You will continue what you started, Marcel. Prometheus has done good over the centuries, and we will make sure it continues for centuries more.”

“Nice work, Spencer,” smiled Nine. He hugged the boy and watched as he ran off. “Alright, Ian, Trak, and Ghost will wait here to meet with Couvillion once we’ve reached him about the painting. Gaspar and I will go with Marcel to Florida and speak to our victim and hopefully, find a contact for him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Florida is not what I remember,” said Marcel, frowning at the others. “It was once lush like Louisiana, beautiful bayous and swamps, wildlife that you could only imagine. All this concrete and steel is horrible.”

“We agree,” smirked Nine. “Good thing we’re only in the panhandle. If you went further east to Orlando or Miami, you’d be very disappointed in how it’s all turned out.”

“Appalling.”

Mercy Hospital was a small-town hospital, which may have been why the man was left there. They didn’t have the staff or the ability to track down an unknown. Seeing two police officers leave a room, they knew that they’d probably been there to get a statement from the man inside.

Marcel walked in first, Gaspar and Nine following him.

“Do I know you?” he asked, staring at the men. Then it hit him. These were the men he feared more than Tim. “Robicheauxs. All of you?”

“Not me. I’m just lucky enough to be family,” said Nine.

“You got my message.”

“We did,” said Marcel. “I thank you, but I am curious to know why you would warn us.”

“He shot me in the back. Twice. I won’t walk again, and that’s more than I deserve for helping him. When I found out that his real obsession was with some painting owned by your family, I thought he was crazy. He’d been going after anything and everything that was connected to your name.”

“He’s not been very successful,” said Gaspar. “Why does he want the painting?”

“I don’t know. He refused to tell me. I knew that the painting in the office was the original, and I told him that. Once he found out, he knew the woman had lied to him, and he wanted to get to her. Her name is Amy Fontenot. She’s done nothing wrong except lie to Tim, and that’s not something he forgives easily.”

“Her name is Amy Robicheaux,” said Marcel with a snarl.

“Shit,” muttered Mark.

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