CHAPTER TWENTY
Hampton left so abruptly they weren’t sure what was happening. Irene actually stepped down out of the tree so she could face all of the men, including Grover.
“Grover, baby, what was that about?” asked Irene.
“Him. I’ve known there was something familiar about him for a while now, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I’ve tried to communicate with him, but it wasn’t working.
He is related to the man who killed me, I’m certain of it.
He was wearing the same ring that the man who owned me was wearing.
He is connected to the man who hanged me from this tree. ”
“Your boss, the man you called boss, was a man named Hampton?” asked Irene.
“Yes,” he nodded. “I didn’t remember that before now. I’m not sure what happened, but I saw his face, the ring, and it all clicked for me. Something in his eyes told me he was related.”
“Did he hear you?” asked Angel.
“I’m not sure. As I said, I’ve tried to speak with him before, and he’s never given any indication that he could hear me.”
“Mama Irene, what do you think?” asked Trak.
“I’m not sure what to think,” she said. “If Hampton’s ancestor was the one that owned Grover, that could be why he wants the tree destroyed. Maybe it’s about destroying the memories or the evidence? I don’t know.”
“Well, it gives us a place to start,” said Angel. “I’ll let Code and the boys know that we figured out the connection. That should give them a place to start and hopefully find out what Hampton’s game is.”
Hampton couldn’t get to his apartment fast enough. He slammed the door, engaging the lock, although it rarely did any good. The voices came at him through doors, floors, walls, cars, planes, it never seemed to matter.
He rifled through the papers on his desk, trying to find the information he was looking for. There were at least six more locations that he needed to handle. Maybe he’d leave this one for a while and take care of business somewhere else.
“Mississippi,” he whispered. He still had a few more properties to attend to in Mississippi. It was close, and he could take care of that one quickly.
Packing a bag, he called his bodyguards and ordered that they meet him outside his building in thirty minutes. He arranged for them to stay in a luxury boutique hotel and e-mailed his contact that they could meet tomorrow about the property.
The massive folder of information on his desk was like an anvil around his neck. Every day, he’d review the materials that were already emblazoned in his brain. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Perhaps it was his penance, his just desserts as it were.
“How many more fucking jobs?” he growled. He heard shuffling behind him and realized that one of his men had come up to get him.
“Sir?”
“Nothing. Is everything ready downstairs?”
“Yes, sir. What do you want to do about the woman in the tree?” he asked.
“Nothing. Leave her there for now. When we get back in a few days, hopefully, she’ll be gone, and we can do this without approval. We’ll just send someone into the park to burn the whole damn thing down.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two-and-a-half hours later, they found themselves not far from Natchez, Mississippi. The boutique hotel turned out to be a once historic home. At first, Hampton was reluctant to go inside, but after sitting in the lobby chair for a few moments, there was nothing but silence, and he was grateful.
By nine a.m. the next morning, he was waiting at the bank door to obtain what he needed. A bank check for the exact amount agreed upon by the family. They thought he’d lost his mind for what he was offering for the land and crumbling antebellum home.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Hampton,” said the man.
“Nice to see you. Here’s the check,” he said, handing it over to the man.
“Grateful for it, truly. I just don’t understand why you’d want land that ain’t good for nothin’ anymore. My family hasn’t grown crops here in more than a hundred years now, and the house ain’t worth nothin’. Even the historical society said it wasn’t worth saving.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t want anyone to accuse me of taking advantage of you,” said the man.
“Mr. Beauregard, I assure you I know what I’m doing. Now, if you accept the check and sign the papers, this deal will be done.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, shaking his head. He signed the papers, taking the check from the man and walking toward his waiting car and wife. As they drove away, they watched him pour gasoline on the old house.
“He’s crazy!” said his wife.
“He’s definitely touched. A man pays all that money for a house that ain’t worth nothin’ then sets it on fire? Something’s wrong with him.”
Hampton watched as the home burned, the crackling of dry wood giving him peace. There were three massive trees in the front, along the old carriageway. His men were cutting those down now and tossing them into the fire.
It was working. He could feel the pain in his chest easing. It was working. When the last of the beams on the house fell inward, he sat in the SUV, watching it burn to ashes. There were no images, no whispers, no stabs of pain that could ruin his day now.
“Should we call the fire department now to be sure it gets doused?” asked his man.
“Yes. Make sure they know it was set intentionally. We’ll come back later to clear the debris.”
It was a lie. They’d never return to this location again. He’d sell the land back to the bank or to someone who wanted to rebuild on the property, but he didn’t want anything to do with it. It was done. He was done. At least with this property.
“Back to New Orleans?” asked his man.
“No. We have one more here in Mississippi. We’re headed to Vicksburg.”
Mississippi had pockets of beautiful land. Rich with timber, beautiful river views, and unique history, it was a land that offered a lot for a man wanting to prove himself early in the country’s existence.
Hampton had nothing to prove, but he did have a few things to settle. He’d contacted the Thompson family about their farm several times, but they’d refused to answer him. The next best thing was to see them in person.
“This is the address,” said his driver.
He stared at the dilapidated old farmhouse, the front porch leaning heavily to the left. The ruins of a once regal antebellum home was about four-hundred yards behind it. This one looked as though it had once been a sharecropper’s shack and at some point, built onto.
As he stepped out of the car, a man stepped onto the porch with a shotgun.
“Whoever you are, get back in that fancy car and go home. I ain’t buyin’ nothin’.”
“I’m not trying to sell you anything,” said Hampton with his hands raised. “I’m here to make you a rich man.”
“Mister, I don’t need your money. I’m already a rich man. Got a wife, kids, home, and a farm that gives me what I need. All you rich folks think because we ain’t drivin’ fancy cars or wearing fancy suits that we ain’t rich. We got plenty, and then some.”
“I understand,” said Hampton, smiling at him. “You’re a rich man indeed. But I’m prepared to offer you five times what this place is worth.”
“And I’m prepared to say no. You’d think all them e-mails I ignored would tell you that.” Hampton chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping to cause enough blood that he might spit in the other man’s eye.
“Name your price,” he said definitively.
The two men behind him stared at one another, then back at their boss. Had he lost his mind? The property was a shithole. It wasn’t worth a tenth of what he was offering.
“Listen, you don’t get it. This is my home. Been my family’s home for almost three hundred years. My ancestor took it from the Indians. Fought fair and square for it.”
“Fair and square,” repeated Hampton under his breath. He wondered if he told the man that they were related if it would make a difference. He doubted it, and besides, it would sound positively insane. “The Indians fought for what they owned. Your family stole it from them.”
“For a man who wants this property, you ain’t helpin’ yourself none. It’s my land. I own it outright, and I ain’t movin’. Now, get off my property, or I call the sheriff.”
“Very well. Just know that I’ll be back, and my offer will not be the same.”
Hampton got into the car and left the property. When they were a few miles away, they stopped at a roadside diner. He’d thought long and hard about what to do if the Thompsons wouldn’t give in to his demands. The problem with people like them was that they truly didn’t care about money.
“What now, boss?” asked the man.
“We wait. After midnight, burn it to the ground.”