Chapter 42
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Windsor Island
The delivery truck dropped them at Terminal Island Road just off the MacArthur Causeway. Flint checked his watch. They had forty minutes to make the rendezvous.
“Ferry terminal’s this way,” Drake said, leading them toward the water.
The area was surprisingly quiet for Miami, mostly causeway infrastructure and security checkpoints. Palm trees swayed in the warm March breeze. The weather was perfect for Miami, with gentle breezes carrying the scent of Biscayne Bay and the sweet perfume of gardenias.
Lizzy walked between them, scanning every parked car and security camera. She’d spent twenty years looking over her shoulder. Old habits die hard. Her clothes stuck to her back with nervous perspiration despite the comfortable temperature.
The private dock was straight ahead. Fisher had arranged for his boat to pick them up from the Terminal Island area. Security cameras no doubt tracked them from discreet positions.
Fisher’s thirty-eight-foot Viking sport fisherman waited with its twin diesels rumbling at idle, the sound a deep bass note that vibrated through the concrete pier.
The name Meridian was painted in gold letters across the transom.
The boat’s finish was so perfect it seemed to glow in the afternoon sunlight.
A crew member in pressed white shorts and a navy polo shirt stepped onto the floating concrete dock as they approached. The uniform was so crisp it could have come straight from the dry cleaner. Young face, weathered hands.
“Mr. Flint?”
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Fisher is expecting you. Please come aboard.” His voice carried a slight accent Flint couldn’t place. Caribbean, maybe.
The boat’s interior was pristine white leather and polished teak that smelled of expensive conditioner and salt spray. Not ostentatious, but every detail perfect. Even the drink holders were made from brushed stainless steel.
“Nice ride,” Drake commented, running his hand along the polished rail.
“Mr. Fisher appreciates quality,” the crewman said with pride.
As they pulled away from the concrete floating docks, the diesel fumes from working boats gave way to the clean salt tang of open water. The Viking’s powerful engines settled into a steady growl of precision engineering and unlimited maintenance budgets.
Miami’s skyline stretched along the horizon to their left. Glass towers caught the afternoon sun like mirrors, throwing back sheets of golden light that made Flint squint.
“Wow, look at those yachts,” Lizzy said, pointing to their right where superyachts up to two hundred feet long sat anchored in perfect rows at the island’s marinas.
Crews in crisp uniforms polished chrome that already gleamed.
The sound of the wake slapping against the hulls echoed across the water.
The water changed from the greenish harbor color to clearer blue-green as they moved through the bay. The depth gauge showed fifteen feet, then twenty, then deeper water beyond. Seabirds wheeled overhead—pelicans, cormorants, and egrets hunting in the shallows.
“Dolphins,” Drake pointed as a pair of bottlenose dolphins surfaced nearby. The dorsal fins cut through the gentle swells like black knives before disappearing again with barely a splash.
“How much farther?” Lizzy seemed absorbed by the luxury surroundings after her years in Cuba where prosperity was nonexistent.
“Eight minutes to the island,” the crewman replied over the engine noise.
Windsor Island emerged ahead through the March haze like something from a travel magazine. The exclusive 216-acre island housed seven hundred residences, owned by citizens of thirty countries.
Perfectly manicured palm trees lined pristine private beaches maintained by armies of groundskeepers. Behind the beaches, massive estates were monuments to wealth, each positioned for maximum privacy and stunning water views.
“How the billionaires live,” Flint muttered, catching glimpses of tennis courts, swimming pools, and helicopter pads tucked behind landscaping that cost millions.
Lizzy gripped the boat’s rail as they sliced through the calm water.
Her knuckles showed white against her tanned skin.
The engines’ steady rumble mixed with the sound of spray hitting the hull and the distant cry of seabirds.
She watched the yachts drift past like floating palaces with crews in crisp uniforms preparing for evening cocktail parties.
“Money makes everything different here,” she said quietly. “Clean, antiseptic, removed from the real world.”
“You nervous?” Drake asked, raising his voice over the wind and engine noise.
“Wouldn’t you be?” She gestured toward the approaching island with a trembling hand. “Look at this place. His world. I haven’t seen him in more than twenty years and I’m about to tell him his father helped poison half of Kentucky with pills.”
Flint caught the bitter edge in her voice. “Harry Fisher made his choices. You saved those children.”
“Did I? Or did I just drag them into twenty years of hiding from their own family? Parents and siblings who loved them passionately.” Lizzy paused to blink her tears away.
Windsor Island filled Flint’s vision now.
The scent of money was everywhere. In the perfectly maintained landscaping, the private beaches raked smooth as golf course sand, the estates that could house small towns, and an army of workers to attend every whim of the billionaires who lived here.
The clean, antiseptic smell of wealth that insulated itself from the real world.
Even the air felt different here, filtered and perfected.
The boat pulled up to a private pier that gleamed with fresh teak planking.
Another crew member waited to tie them off.
Beyond the dock, a golf cart sat ready with a driver wearing the same navy polo uniform.
The cart itself was spotless, more like a small luxury vehicle than ordinary transportation.
“First time to Windsor Island?” the driver asked as they climbed into the cart. His tone carried the same careful neutrality as the boat crew.
“For me, yes,” Drake and Lizzy replied at the same time.
Flint said nothing. He’d been to Windsor Island many times. Several residents had been his clients at one time or another. No reason to say so now.
“Mr. Fisher’s residence is just up the hill,” the driver continued.
The road wound through tropical landscaping that probably cost more to maintain than the purchase price of most US homes. Orchids bloomed. Koi ponds reflected the late afternoon sky. Even the pink crushed shell gravel crunched expensively under the cart tires.
“Everything’s perfect,” Lizzy observed. “Controlled. The kind of environment where you can forget the real world exists.”
“Yep. Keep out the riffraff. That’s the point,” Drake said quietly.
Fisher’s estate sprawled along the island’s western shore like a scene from Architectural Digest. A magnificent Spanish-style mansion with arched windows and terra cotta tile roofing caught the afternoon light giving it a burnished copper glow.
The Mediterranean architecture followed the island’s strict design guidelines while it conveyed understated elegance. Wealth that expressed itself through quality rather than flash.
“I count at least thirty rooms,” Drake said, studying the main structure.
“Probably more,” Flint replied.
Jason Fisher waited on the covered terrace overlooking the water, running his hands through his hair as if he were nervous.
He looked older than when Flint had first met him a few days ago.
Dark circles under his eyes suggested sleepless nights.
The obsessive search for his siblings had taken its toll.
“Flint.” Fisher’s tone was controlled, but Flint caught the underlying tension.
His eyes went immediately to Lizzy, showing no surprise or uncertainty. He’d been expecting this moment since his phone call. Flint could see the recognition in Fisher’s face, mixed with what might have been relief or dread.
“Lizzy Pace. It’s been a long time, but I’d know you anywhere.” His voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him with a slight shake. “Thank you for coming.”
He gestured toward one of the seating areas on the terrace overlooking the ocean decorated with furniture that probably cost more than most cars.
The terrace furniture was carefully arranged. Miami sparkled in the distance like a handful of diamonds scattered on black velvet. Boats moved across the bay like toys, lights beginning to twinkle as dusk approached.
“Beautiful view,” Flint observed, settling into his chair.
“It’s designed to keep all the problems of the world away,” Fisher said bitterly. “But some problems can’t be solved by money alone.”
“No, they can’t,” Lizzy agreed quietly.
Fisher’s gaze never left Lizzy’s face, studying her like she might disappear if he looked away. “I need to know what happened to my family.”
Lizzy dropped her chin and gazed at the terrazzo tile on the floor.
“What happened that night?” Fisher’s voice seemed to crack slightly. “The fire. The twins. Little Mo. All of it.”
Lizzy glanced at Flint, who nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath that seemed to steady her.
“I managed to get them out.” The words came out like a confession.
Fisher’s hands gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles went white. “All three of them?”
Lizzy nodded, tears starting to track down her cheeks. “Dylan, Kevin, and Maureen.”
Fisher was quiet for a long moment, his face unreadable. He stared at a fixed point on the table, processing the information in a methodical way. Due to his autism he needed time to absorb shocking news, to work through it systematically.
When he looked up, his expression was controlled, though Flint caught the slight tension around his eyes.
“Where are they now?”
“I haven’t seen them in a very long time.” Lizzy’s eyes filled with fresh tears, and she cleared her throat before she could continue. Her voice shook with decades of suppressed emotion. “I don’t know what happened to them later.”
“Start from the beginning,” Flint said gently. “Tell him everything.”
Fisher seemed to understand that he couldn’t push her too far too fast. He waited as if he were patient when Flint knew otherwise.
“I was babysitting that night. The twins had colds, so your parents decided to leave them home instead of dragging them to the basketball game.” Lizzy took a shaky breath and wiped her face with trembling hands.
“I was upstairs in the nursery with all three children when the fire started. I didn’t notice the flames right away. ”
Fisher leaned forward, hanging on every word. “When did you notice the fire?”
“Not until I started to smell the smoke and Kevin began coughing.” Her voice grew steadier as she continued, as if telling the story was helping her relive it clearly. “We grabbed the children and got them outside. I took them deep into the woods.”
“You said ‘we.’ Who helped you get them out?” Jason’s question was sharp, focused.
“Frankie Tantanella.” Lizzy’s hands trembled slightly as she spoke the name.
Fisher’s face changed. “You knew you weren’t allowed to have boys over when you were babysitting. What was Frankie doing there?”
Lizzy looked at Flint again. He nodded, his expression encouraging but serious.
“He needed money,” she said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “To get out of Kentucky. Someone had offered him enough cash to disappear if he’d torch your father’s house. He would never have hurt us. Frankie didn’t know we were inside.”
The color drained from Fisher’s face. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. When he finally spoke, his voice was ice cold. “Who paid Frankie Tantanella to burn down our house?”
She glanced at Flint again for reassurance. He nodded once more, his jaw set.
Lizzy cleared her throat and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She straightened in her chair and raised her eyes to give Jason a steady stare.
The words came out clear and final, like a judge pronouncing sentence.
“Devon Cole.”