Page 13 of Playing With Her

TWENTY-ONE

Boston

“Bingo,”Sylvester says later in the day. Amelie is currently bustling back and forth between the kitchen and the front concierge area. One of the Inn’s employees called in sick, some kind of stomach bug. The only thing that’s keeping me calm and not lashing out is that my eyes are on her at all times. Our slow and easy morning turned into running one errand after another, starting with meeting Sly at the office building, which is currently under contract; the only thing we’re waiting on is for the owner to sign the papers, all-cash offer, no contingencies or inspections were necessary. The building needs a lot of work, not enough for it to be a complete tear-down, but it will need work from the inside out. As much as I’d like to beautify the outside, helping restore another piece of history in the area, too much could go wrong, like windows being blown out by the demo crew, brickwork shaking from jackhammering to replace the plumbing, and that’s only the half of it. Sylvester whistling when he saw the shape of the place was all too telling. The same couldn’t be said for Amelie. There were stars in her eyes as she spilled out ideas to preserve what could be salvaged, going so far as to pull up pictures of how the building once stood in its glory.

“You’ve got something, don’t you?” I look up from my own work of starting a spreadsheet and proposal for Four Brothers. Even if they have no problem with me branching out, I want it fucking official and them to sign off on it. Plus, each of us brings something different to the table; they may notice something I missed, or vice versa.

“Fuck, yes, do I ever.” He turns his laptop around, showing me a multitude of listings on the MLS website. He must notice my confusion. “I’ve tracked back each owner, compared them to the listing agent, then I did the same for the agent. Found a massive discrepancy after my IT tech said the real estate company was an umbrella company.” Four Brothers knows all about that, using our own when shit went down with Ezra’s woman, Millie.

“You’re shitting me. How did I not notice that this same agency has all of these listings?” I ask him.

“Because all of these were added recently. When you looked at Isabelle’s parents’ building, there were only a few under this agency. Now there are more than ten, all bunched together. Someone was thinking they’re slick. Not as slick as my tech. I don’t know how Noah Boudreaux can afford this since he’s claiming he’s destitute with his financial affidavit. He owns the umbrella company. What he doesn’t own is all these houses. A quick look at the property appraiser’s website tells me everything I need. He’s going down, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.” There’s a gleam in his eyes. This is the shit he lives for, dissecting a case to put it all back together.

“Does that mean he’s selling property he doesn’t own, lying to a judge, his attorney either being none the wiser or playing right along with him? Holy fuck, man. Isabelle has been trying to divorce this asshat for nearly nine months. Noah has no idea who he’s fucking with.” One worry is off my shoulders. The same can’t be said for the rest. Two steps forward and one step back has been the name of the game for a month now.

“I’m willing to bet you a million dollars his attorney is part owner in the umbrella company and that the judge is bought and paid for, too.” I sit back in my chair, running my hand down my face. Son of a bitch. This is going to destroy Amelie, to hear about your father swindling not only your mom but also other innocent people, trying to take it so far that Isabelle would have to pay him some kind of compensation. It’s an entirely fucked-up situation.

“What’s the next step? I mean, back home, we’d bust this shit right open, leak it to the press, and let them have a hay day with it.” So much for protecting Amelie from added stress. She’s going to carry this until the bitter end, and if Sly can’t figure out how to make Boudreaux pay back all the money he’s taken from innocent bystanders, well, she’ll really lose her shit.

“I’m going to do some digging on his attorney and judge, then do the same as we would in New York. Which sucks for you. I’m assuming you’ll be with Isabelle and Amelie every step of the way. You’ll be putting everyone, including yourself, on your father’s radar. I’ve yet to dig deep into what Mrs. Wescott talked about. The more I think on the topic, the leerier I am about the situation.”

“I’ll be with her. I’m not letting her or Isabelle’s ass swing in the wind without some kind of protection. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to hire some security. Neither of them are going to close the Inn, and they damn sure aren’t going to stop going on with their day.” I start going through other variables. Amelie can hold her own should she have to deal with my parents; it’s the media shit storm that can be fucking brutal.

“We’ll get that taken care of well before the case breaks.” Sly nods, thinking the same as me.

“As for my family, it might not be a bad idea to get ahead of whatever they’re scheming, there is no doubt in my mind, mom will do whatever it is to make sure she’s sitting in the green. Even if it’s helping dear old dad out, no matter how many times he bangs his secretary. Wescott is the money chain, and she’s there to ride the coattails.” The more I replay the conversation with Sly, the less optimistic I am that my mother is doing anything out of the goodness of her black soul.

“Already ahead of you. The Wescott’s are proving a bit more difficult to tap into without leaving any footprints. By the time we bring this to the press, I’ll have that lined up as well.”

“Shit, man, I owe you a kidney. The house, the building, Isabelle’s situation, and my family. I’m scared to see the bill,” I joke with him.

“You can win it back at a game of poker. Besides, everyone knows this is chump change for the both of us. It’s the thrill of the chase, you for money, me for winning a case.” On that we can agree.

“Alright, I’m taking a break. It’s time to find my woman and get her off her feet.” I get out of my seat. She’s yet to come into the kitchen during this conversation, meaning I haven’t seen her for nearly as long.

“Good luck. She’s going to bust your balls.” He turns back to his work, and I walk out of the kitchen. The only thing I care about is making sure Amelie is okay. The other shit can fall where it lands.

TWENTY-TWO

Amelie

“I’m not surprised,Mom, and you really can’t be either.” Sylvester and Boston sat us both down to give us the news about what my father has been doing. Mom has tears in her eyes, not for herself, for others. Me, I’m fighting mad, ready to hit Dad below the belt, preferably in a pair of Doc Marten boots between the legs.

“It doesn’t make it any easier to hear.” She’s right. Of course, she is. My mother always has been.

“With everything I have, the attempt to sell your property, the trespassing, a cop never coming out to take your statement, the way he was selling property without consent, his lawyer paying off the judge. I don’t think you’ll have a problem receiving the divorce you deserve. Boston will tell you everything else. This is going to be a media sensation. The Inn will no doubt be inundated with calls, press, and people wanting to book a vacation after hearing what you’ve been through,” Sylvester states calmly. Boston is sitting next to me, his arm dangling behind my back along the chair. His other is holding my hand, fingers entwined, squeezing ours together every now and then.

“Won’t they be disgusted with me? What if everyone believes I knew about what Noah was doing?” Mom asks, hyperaware of the fallout.

“That won’t happen. We’ve got ahold of the situation before it even happens. Sylvester will make a statement on your behalf, and we’ll go from there. In the meantime, we’re going to stay at the Inn, let it blow over before moving into my home.” I roll my eyes at his obnoxious statement. No one agreed to me leaving the Inn to live with Boston, especially the person being me. This thick-headed man is out to undermine me, swoop in, and while he’s already the hero in everyone’s eyes, including mine, telling me I’m moving in without asking me, oh, I’m going to make him sweat.

“Oh, you’re moving? I think this is a fabulous idea. I’ve been telling Amelie for years now, the Inn has been my dream, but it doesn’t have to be hers,” Mom inserts. I totally knew she’d be gung-ho with Boston and his big mouth.

“It’s a good thing that it’s also my dream. The only reason grandaddy’s building is sitting empty right now is because of the circumstances of your divorce, which will be done and over soon, it seems.” We always wanted to have both the LeBlanc buildings open, flourishing, and bringing in money along with tourists.

“Honey, you have to know you’re going to have your hands full by the end of the year. Sure, right now, you’re only battling morning sickness with certain smells. What are you going to do when the birth of my grandchild is looming? I don’t think it’s a good idea to even contemplate starting something of that magnitude. Boston, will you help me out?” Oh, brother, here we go. I guess I’ll be calling Eden soon to complain to her, not that she’ll agree with me. One thing about the people in my life who love me, they also protect me to an extreme it's almost suffocating.

“Amelie, you want to start restoring it while you’re pregnant, I’ll get a crew on it, but you absolutely are running yourself ragged, opening up a new Inn when you’re already dead on your feet every night here, and it’s nothing compared to having an established business. You know what stress does to a mother.” I swear to all that is holy I’m going to give Boston something to stress about with my hands around his throat.

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