CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m awful glad you could meet me, Marie,” said Irene, smiling at the other woman.
“It was my pleasure, Irene. It was quite a surprise getting an invite to meet with one of the grand ladies of New Orleans. We’re both women with large families, strong catholic families. We should have met up sooner. We have a lot in common.”
“Yes,” nodded Irene. “We do. But our large families seem to be on opposite sides of the law right now.”
“Well, boys will be boys,” said Marie. Irene nodded, smiling at the woman.
“Yes, you know I’ve said that a time or two myself,” said Irene. “Of course, usually it’s about my boys breaking a window with a baseball or getting one too many speeding tickets. It’s never about robbing innocent, elderly people of their homes.”
Marie stopped mid-bite of her lemon cake and stared at the attractive older woman across from her. She gently placed the fork back on her plate and leaned back, taking a sip of the coffee.
“My boys don’t rob innocent people of their homes. They are smart businessmen who know how to make a profit. If those people don’t know how to read contracts or loan documents, well, then perhaps they should be in a home somewhere or being taken care of by their children.”
“Yes, yes, your boys are good businesspeople, at the expense of others,” said Irene. “Your sons have forced these people to leave their homes, making their mortgages unaffordable. They’ve been pushed into foreclosure, bankruptcy, and homelessness. I don’t know that I’d be braggin’ about that.”
“I stand by what I said. If they can’t afford their mortgage, then it seems they shouldn’t be living in their homes.”
Irene pushed the cake aside and laid her hands flat on the table. She noticed the two men without necks watching their interaction. They’d followed the other women inside, taking a seat at another table. She supposed that Marie thought she was a fool. She knew exactly who and what they were, but she had her own tricks up her sleeve.
“Homes are important to people,” said Irene, shaking her head. “I find the older we get, the more treasured our home becomes. It holds so many memories, so much history for all of us.”
“I agree with that. I’ve been in my home for fifteen years now. Built it to my specifications after living in a small, cramped home in the Northeast.”
“Paid for?” asked Irene.
“No,” frowned Marie. “I pay a mortgage for tax purposes and all. Plus, it allows me to have other options, shall we say.”
“Yes. I believe your mortgage is through Midwest Mortgage, which, as we all know, is really Southern Land and Property.” Marie’s face paled as she looked at the old woman, her hands visibly shaking. “Oh, I suppose it surprises you that I know that, but it’s my business. I mean, literally, it’s my business now. My husband and I bought Southern Land and Property this morning. We appreciate the fine print you placed in all the standard mortgage documents which allows us to raise interest rates to unhealthy amounts or simply make the mortgage unpayable. Of course, we will be changing that going forward.”
“Wh-what have you done?” asked the older woman.
“I’ve done what you and your boys have done. Your mortgage, which was a healthy sum to begin with, is now going to cost you five times as much with a forty-one percent mortgage rate that, according to your own verbiage, can be called into effect at any point in time. It’s all legal. We had our legal team take a look at the language you put in there, and you made sure it was right and you signed it. It’s disgusting but right.”
“You can’t do this,” she gasped, clutching her throat.
“Oh, I can and I have. Your boys have been doing it to innocent people with no recourse, no ability to pay the amounts you placed on them. You knew it when you did it. They did not. You knew about these clauses and were foolish enough to mortgage your home through your own business,” laughed Irene. “I gotta say, that takes gumption. Of course, as of right now, you’ve got a lotta money due to me.”
“I’ll destroy you,” she sneered.
“Oh, please. Better women than you have tried to destroy me and mine. This is a simple problem to be solved. Leave New Orleans.”
Irene took another bite of cake and then a sip of her coffee. Marie waved her fingers at the two men in the corner, and they immediately stood beside her.
“I believe Mrs. Robicheaux needs to go for a ride.”
They started to reach for the old woman but instead were met with the sounds of weapons being drawn and small red dots appearing on their chests. The men were smart enough to freeze, not moving as Marie stared at them.
“Now, see. I was meeting with you out of friendship, hoping we could come to an agreement,” said Irene. She stood from the table and shoved the two big men out of her way. “I don’t think we need to resort to violence, although I’m not opposed to it if that’s the direction you go.”
Marie looked around the small café and saw the men standing at the counter with their weapons drawn. She looked at the two men she’d brought with her and almost told them to pull their own weapons. What changed her mind was the strange hissing sound at her feet. She jumped back, screaming.
“Oh, don’t mind Alvin. He’s just a bit hungry and gets all worked up when he hasn’t eaten yet. I’ll feed him. Something. Soon.”
“You’re crazy!” said Marie.
“Well, I’ve been called worse,” nodded Irene. “Leave New Orleans. This won’t go away if you don’t.”
“Old woman, you’ve declared war against the wrong family.” Irene laughed, shaking her head.
“Old woman,” she said gruffly, “you’ve picked a war with the only family that can destroy you. Heed my warning. We mothers need to protect our children. I thought you’d understand that. If you don’t, then remember this day. Fix this, or your home will belong to me.”
Irene left the woman fuming where she stood. Clay, Gibbie, and Antoine walked beside her.
“Mama, you might have started a fight that will end in death,” said Antoine.
“I know, son. I hoped that a mother, a good Catholic Italian mother, would want to help her children. I don’t think that woman wants to help anyone except herself. But it told me what I needed to know.”
“What’s that?” asked Gibbie.
“Marie Rizzoli is the one in charge of that family.”