Page 60 of Tiki Beach
“Very good thing,” I agreed, turning in his arms to face him. “Though I wish I could be a fly on the wall in that meeting.”
Keone’s eyes opened then. “You okay with all of it?”
I considered for a moment, turning my face to rest my cheek on his warm, bare chest. “Yes. The authorities will take the case where they can, and it will be what it will be. And honestly, I need some distance from all of it right now.”
“How about we get breakfast downstairs and eat on the lanai, then spend some time at Makena Big Beach after that?” He nuzzled my neck. “Have to make the most of time off on this side of the island.”
“Perfect,” I said, I’ll get dressed and be ready in just a few minutes.
By the time we made it to the balcony with our coffee and breakfast, it was nearly ten. We settled onto a single lounger, sides pressed together, plates balanced on our laps as we watched tourists dotting the pool’s deck below.
My phone buzzed again with a text from Lei: Press conference later. Captain Omura is putting it all out there. Pretty sure Ilima will be measuring curtains in the Hana-Ohia mayor’s office by the end of the week.
I showed the message to Keone. “Justice for Pearl, and a new beginning for Hana-Ohia.”
“Santos may weather criminal charges, but his career is over,” Keone said, taking a sip of his coffee. “And Mom and Edith will make sure the Heritage Garden becomes everything Pearl dreamed it could be.”
I leaned against him, feeling the weight of the past few days begin to lift. “History preserved, truth acknowledged, and oleander reserved strictly for ornamental purposes.”
As we relaxed and ate, my mind drifted to the meeting happening across town.
I could picture Lei sitting at the conference table, her files and evidence neatly arranged before her. Captain Omura would be there—I’d met her once at a community outreach event, a petite Japanese woman with an air of quiet authority that made even the tallest officers straighten when she entered a room. District Attorney Hiromo would be there too, and he had a reputation for meticulous preparation that was legendary on the island.
I imagined them going through the evidence piece by piece—the recording from Pearl’s safety deposit box, the toxicology reports confirming oleander poisoning, Kawika’s detailed confession implicating both himself and David Santos in the attempt on Pearl’s life. I could see them laying out the complex web of connections: Mayor Santos orchestrating the whole thing with Councilman Akana, using David as their on-the-ground enforcer, pressuring Kawika until he broke.
All to get their hands on Pearl’s land—the final piece they needed for their “Cultural Corridor” development that would have made them millions while erasing a crucial piece of island history.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. They’d wanted to bury the past—the records proving that Pearl’s family’s land had been illegally seized during the Japanese internment and never properly returned. Instead, they’d managed to bring that history into the spotlight, ensuring it would now be preserved and remembered.
“What are you thinking about?” Keone asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“Just how things have a way of coming full circle,” I said. “Santos and Akana wanted to erase history, but they’ll end up preserving it instead.”
“And paying a price for trying to bury it,” Keone added.
My phone buzzed again—another text from Lei:
Omura is taking no prisoners. She told the police commissioner her parents were interned at Manzanar. This is personal for her. They’re talking about claiming the five-acre parcel from the Santos family using eminent domain—and paying them the same pittance for it that they paid the Yamamotos. Looks like it will be part of the Heritage Garden for sure.
“Captain Omura’s parents were interned,” I told Keone. “No wonder she’s going hard after the Santos-Akana cabal.”
“The department doesn’t usually dig in on a case where the primary target—Pearl—survived and the main perpetrators are already in custody,” Keone said.
“But it’s bigger than that. It’s about acknowledging what happened decades ago and making sure it’s not forgotten or repeated.”
Press conference scheduled for 10am tomorrow. They’re going to lay out everything—the attempted murder, the development scheme, the historical context with the internment records. Sticking to what we can prove but making the connections clear enough for even the densest voter to follow.
“Wow,” I said, showing Keone the message. “They’re really doing this.”
“Good,” he said. “The public deserves to know the truth.”
I nodded, thinking of Ilima, who had stood by Pearl from the beginning, championing the Heritage Garden against the Santos-Akana Cultural Corridor plan. With this scandal breaking, her mayoral victory was all but guaranteed.
“You know what this means for your mom,” I said.
“Mayor Kaihale has a nice ring to it,” Keone agreed. “And I bet her first official act will be to secure historical landmark status for Pearl’s garden.” Despite everything—the poison, the conspiracy, the betrayal—Pearl had won. Her garden would be preserved, her family’s history acknowledged, and the truth about what had happened during the internment period would be known.
The thought filled me with a quiet satisfaction.
