Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
“ C ome out, come out, wherever you are,” I murmur as I scan through the security footage from the night of the wedding. It’s been nearly a week, and no one has seen or heard from Charity LaMontagne. It’s like she disappeared from the face of the earth. There are two scenarios in front of me that I have to contend with. She’s either really good at hide-and-seek, or she’s dead. The former seems more plausible, but doubt burns at the back of my mind, making the latter more plausible.
My wife is sure that her mother had nothing to do with the trafficked women she found when attempting to meet up with Santiago Alvarez, but I won’t leave any stone unturned. There is also something else bothering me. The conversation with my mother. I never realized how against the marriage my mother truly was and still is. Sure, there were times she tried to persuade me to drop the marriage contract. Tear it up like it never existed, but I couldn’t. My father wanted this to work, and even though I’ll never know what they are, he had his reasons.
My mother is also the one who encouraged me not to look for Evaline when she ran. Told me it wasn’t worth it. I thought she was just trying to spare me from wasting manpower and energy, but now I wonder if it was something deeper. I can understand my mother’s reticence. Charity LaMontagne killed her eldest son, and, in my mother’s eyes, she got off scot-free. In Japan, the woman would have been made an example of, pregnant or not. That is the very reason why my father chose to leave his home country and start fresh and new.
He always said that being criminals didn’t mean we had to be savages. Fear is heavy motivation for betrayal, not loyalty. Loyalty is won by showing people that they have people to call family without being under constant fear that one wrong slip will lead to a bullet in their head.
The punishment must fit the crime is what he always used to say.
Serving justice to Charity LaMontagne at the end of his sword wouldn’t have been true justice for my brother. It would have been too easy for her. My father devised the perfect way to keep the innocent lives from being murdered while exacting sweet revenge on Charity.
But I know that couldn’t have been his only reason for coming up with the marriage contract. He could have done several other things that all had Charity raising children she never wanted and had planned to get rid of. Thinking back on all the times we visited their house while I was growing up, it makes me wonder if my father grew fond of Evaline. He used to bring her sweets and toys. There were times when he’d take her with us on trips around the city.
He showed her affection. Something her parents never truly gave her.
“I’ve got it.” Vitali whoops in triumph from his spot at the bar. He showed up out of the blue yesterday with his equipment and a woman in handcuffs.
“Don’t ask,” he grumbled as I let him in and showed him to one of the guest bedrooms. Despite her predicament, the woman didn’t scream or holler for help once. She didn’t look scared at all. But she sure as hell appeared to be ticked off.
Rising from the plush couch, I stride over to my friend, peering intently over his shoulder at the security footage of the hotel. Our search for Charity has been fruitless, and frustration is building with each passing hour. We’ve combed through every inch of the initial footage on the night of our wedding, but there was no trace of her leaving through any of the exits. It’s as if she simply vanished into thin air.
“What have you found?” I inquire eagerly. Vitali points to several areas on the screen that appear unremarkable to my eyes, but his keen mind is able to detect small discrepancies that don’t quite line up as expected.
“See these red markers here and here?” He motions to two seemingly identical sections. “Upon closer inspection, they are not seamlessly connected like the rest of the footage. Someone has deleted and clumsily reassembled these portions. Amateur work.”
“What times are these from?”
Vitali punches in a few commands, and a new screen appears. “About half an hour before your wedding and…right before your reception.”
“Do you think you can retrieve the original footage?”
He nods confidently. “My program is currently reconstructing it all.”
“That’s good news,” I say with relief. “Perhaps we’ll be able to determine if she was taken against her will or not.” Why go through the trouble of deleting footage if nothing incriminating took place?
“Wait, there’s something else.” Adrian speaks up from across the room. He approaches us with a few sheets of paper in hand and lays them down on the counter between us. “I dug into Charity’s spending habits and noticed that she visits the same store every month at around the same time.”
“Why is that significant?” Vitali questions. “She enjoys shopping. I went through some of her receipts; that woman loves her Botox more than Jennifer Coolidge.”
“But here’s the thing,” Adrian interjects, his eyes gleaming with discovery. “The purchases she makes are always for the same amount.” He points to the totals on her credit card statement. “When I went through her email, she had returns for the exact amount on the same day. Except there are no returns on record.”
I lean in closer to inspect the statement. “But that doesn’t make sense. If she’s returning items, shouldn’t there be some indication of it?”
Adrian smirks triumphantly. “Exactly. Which leads me to believe that she is getting her money back through some other method.”
“But why go through all that trouble?” I wonder aloud.
Adrian shrugs nonchalantly. “Perhaps she needed cash without her husband knowing.”
“Or maybe she needed cash to hire someone to kidnap her own daughter at the wedding?” Vitali suggests with a heavy sigh. It seems we will have to take a trip to Canal Place, where all New Orleans’ finest do their shopping, in search of answers.
With a loud smack of her gum, the girl behind the counter looks up from the photo I’ve shown her of Evaline’s missing mother. Her eyes scan the room, defensive and wary, as if she’s on guard for some impending threat.
“I’ve seen her in here,” she says, her tone challenging. “What’s it to you?”
I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. “She’s missing, and we’re worried about her. She’s my wife’s mother, and we haven’t been able to get in touch with her. My wife is afraid something bad has happened.”
The girl glances around again, still on high alert. Then she leans against the counter, resting her elbows on its surface.
“Look,” she says in a low voice. “Don’t go telling anyone, but I’ve been doing that woman a favor, okay?”
“A favor?” Adrian repeats, his eyebrows raised.
The girl shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah. I don’t know if your wife knows this, but her mom has a cruel, abusive husband who keeps a close eye on their finances. So instead of taking out cash, she comes in and makes a ‘purchase,’ but then we immediately refund it.”
“How are you able to refund fifty thousand dollars without putting it back on the original form of payment?” Adrian asks.
The girl smirks. “If she paid with a credit card, I couldn’t do it. But since she used her debit pin, I can refund it in other forms.”
My heart sinks at her words. Cash? Surely not.
“Cash?” I ask desperately.
The girl shakes her head and wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I ain’t got fifty grand sitting around here, pretty boy. She gets a check.”
A low, frustrated curse slips from my lips as I survey the situation. My mind races with questions: Why is Charity LaMontagne claiming her husband is abusive and trying to run away? And why now, after all this time? Could she have orchestrated the kidnapping as a diversion to escape unnoticed? But then again, she should have known we would be searching for her as a possible suspect.
“Do you have a copy of one of the checks?”
Vitali’s smooth Italian voice interrupts my thoughts, causing the young girl behind the counter to gasp in surprise and stare up at him with wide eyes. He stands tall and lean, a towering figure at six-three, with seductive muscles that make women swoon. A sly smirk crosses his face as he turns to us. Adrian shakes his head in amusement before pulling out his phone. Earlier this morning, he brought his wife, Vanya, to meet Evaline at our penthouse. My friend is completely smitten with his wife, constantly doting on her.
“Umm.” She stammers over her words. “I think so.”
The girl awkwardly shuffles to the back. She returns several moments later with the check and hands it over to Vitali, who thanks her in Italian, calling her “dolce,” or sweet. It’s clear from the coy smile she gives him that she has also slipped in her number. However, Vitali won’t call her back. It’s for the best. She seems inexperienced and na?ve; not someone who would be interested in Vitali’s darker sexual tastes.
As he looks at the photo attached to the check, a grimace crosses his face. Adrian goes to ask him what’s wrong, but Vitali just shakes his head and motions for us to leave. Whatever he sees in that photo, he doesn’t want to discuss it in public.
We retreat to the Escalade and slide into our seats.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Vitali leans forward between the front seats, showing us a copy of the check. Adrian doesn’t seem to understand its significance at first, but I recognize the name immediately and feel my blood start to boil. What kind of person would use such a tragic event for their own gain?
I turn the key in the ignition and shake my head in disgust as we pull out of the parking structure onto the main road. My gaze meets Vitali’s in the rearview mirror.
“Do some digging under that name,” I instruct him. He nods, already pulling out his tablet.
“If I were a well-known socialite trying to escape from an abusive husband who has eyes and ears everywhere, where would I go?” Adrian sits next to me and contemplates. “Definitely not the airport,” he says. “Maybe the train station, but even then, the cops who work those areas will know exactly who she is.”
“She doesn’t have a license,” I muse. “So she couldn’t rent or buy a car.”
How does she think she’s going to get out of the city without being spotted? I have every available person looking for her, as does her husband. There’s no way she’s escaping on my watch, and if she does, I’ll drag her right back.
“Union Passenger bus terminal in the warehouse district,” Vitali informs us. “She bought a one-way ticket that is leaving in an hour, bound for Pensacola, where she has a flight scheduled to leave for Paris in three days.”
“Gotcha.” I grin triumphantly. Charity LaMontagne won’t be escaping anytime soon. She has a debt to pay, and I have questions that need answering.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the bus station. Traffic is light. I park out of sight of the main entrance so that she won’t see us coming for her. The last thing I want to do is spook the woman into running or making a scene. I don’t have the time to clean up a mess. Most of the cops in the warehouse district are under my thumb. They’re dirty, but they are good men who are just as loyal to the uniform as they are to me.
Most people think that if a cop is on a mafia payroll, they are involved in guns and drugs. Just after a paycheck. I have men like that on my payroll, but I don’t trust them. They are only after a better payday. More than willing to turn on me if it comes down to their lives or ratting me out.
These men, the ones who work the toughest beats every day, are in it for the justice. Sure, they clean up my messes and often look the other way, but I’m not shooting innocent people in the streets. My men aren’t raping women or causing random acts of violence. We are taking down gangs and men who have no honor.
Sure, I deal in drugs and weapons. But I also provide thousands of jobs to the people of New Orleans, providing a fair wage and benefits. Loyalty isn’t blindly given, it is won. My father taught me that. If you are willing to invest in your people, they will stand at your side and weather any storm with you.
Getting out of the car, we approach the back door where one of the undercover officers is waiting.
“She’s sitting in the far corner,” he tells us. “Came in about half an hour ago. From what we can tell, she’s alone.” Taking out his cell phone, he shows us a photo he took.
If I were anyone else, I wouldn’t have looked twice at her. The clothes she is wearing are worn, slightly tattered, and nothing like what she usually wears. Her platinum blond hair has been dyed to a mousy brown, and she is slumped in the chair.
I knew socialites could act, but this deserves an Oscar.
“Thanks, Ray.” I hand him a small envelope full of cash. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
The officer grins at me. “It’s my twins’ birthday in a week,” he admits shyly. “They’ve been wanting bicycles…” He trails off like he is almost ashamed of not being able to normally afford them. I pat him on the shoulder. The New Orleans police department doesn’t pay enough for a man with two kids and a wife to be able to afford housing, food, and accompaniment.
“Get them the fanciest ones you can,” I tell him conspiratorially. “Make the other kids jealous.”
Ray beams like he just won the lottery. “Will do, Mr. Nakamura.”
We leave Ray behind, dodging through the bustling bus terminal toward our target, our footsteps echoing through the nearly deserted bus terminal. The midday sun casts a golden glow on the floors and walls, but there is a tension in the air that belies the peaceful appearance.
As we approach, the socialite sitting in her chair straightens up and sneers at us. She doesn’t bother trying to escape; she knows she wouldn’t make it far. “Well, look who it is,” she scoffs. “Should have known I wouldn’t make it out of the city before you found me.”
“You almost did.” I give her credit where it’s due. “Then again, I never thought a mother would be callous enough to use the identity of the daughter she drowned in a bathtub.”
If I were expecting any remorse from her, I would be disappointed. But this woman lacks the emotional capacity to feel anything so strong.
“Let’s all cry about it.” She rolls her eyes sarcastically. “Now, have you come here to kill me, or are we just going to share our feelings? Because I’ve got places to be.”
The three of us exchange a knowing glance. This cold and cruel side of Evaline’s mother is something we’ve never seen before. It borders on sociopathic. Has she always been like this, or is it a recent development? My gut tells me that this is who she truly is deep down. It’s the only thing that can explain how she could easily kill one child and nearly kill another without an ounce of guilt.
“Why are you running, Charity?” I ask.
The woman snorts dismissively. “Why do you think?” She shoots me a look that says “are you kidding me?” “Your father trapped me into raising that ungrateful monster you now call your wife. Good luck with that, by the way. Now you’re married, and I don’t have any more responsibility to stay. I’m free to finally live how I want instead of catering to that fucking brat.”
“Catering?” My tone is sharp with disbelief. “You never once catered to your daughter. You ignored her. Don’t try to paint yourself as a saint, Charity. It doesn’t suit you.”
Charity waves a hand dismissively. “Oh please. One small drunken mistake, and I’m stuck with her for eighteen years.”
One drunken mistake? Fury boils in my veins like Mount Vesuvius.
Her words drip with bitterness and resentment, revealing the true depths of her callousness and selfishness.
“Easy, brother,” Adrian soothes. “She’s just trying to rile you up.”
The woman’s lips curl into a malicious smirk, her eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “I swear, I did my duty as a mother,” she says, her voice dripping with venom. “I even tried to get that wretched girl out of the city so she wouldn’t have to marry you. But she couldn’t even manage that. The leech didn’t bother to meet my contact, who would have kept her hidden. Instead, she went off on her own and ended up exactly where your father wanted her.”
My blood boils at her words. “Your contact? You mean Santiago? He wasn’t going to help her disappear, Charity. He was planning to ship her overseas and sell her body for cash. That’s what he was going to do to your daughter.”
For a moment, the facade of hostile indifference slips from the woman’s face. Her mouth falls open, and her eyes widen behind her sepia-tinted sunglasses. It’s clear that selling her daughter was never something she intended.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers, the words barely audible. “You have to believe me.”
And strangely enough, I do believe her. If Charity had truly wanted to sell Evaline for money, she could have done it at any point during her daughter’s life. Keeping tabs on my future bride was not a priority after my father’s death, leaving plenty of opportunities to make her disappear without anyone questioning it.
“I believe you,” I assure her, though suspicion still lingers in my mind. “But what I need to know is why you turned to Santiago in the first place.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “I didn’t turn to him,” she protests. “He came to me with an offer—a way out for both me and Evaline. When she failed to show up, he told me he couldn’t help us anymore.”
Adrian and Vitali exchange looks of suspicion, mirroring my own thoughts. There is more to this situation than meets the eye, and I am determined to uncover the truth. “What did he want in return?”
Charity shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I ask in disbelief. “Men like Santiago don’t do things out of the kindness of their heart.”
Charity purses her lips, and her cheeks heat.
So he did want something.
“How did he know to come to you?”
She bites her bottom lip, her throat bobbing anxiously.
“I can’t tell you that,” she whispers.
“Why not?” I bark at her. “You’re sitting here, running for the hills and leaving your husband behind. Give me a name, and I’ll pretend like I never saw you.”
“You don’t want to mess with them,” she pleads. “They’ve been at this game far longer than you.”
“Who?” I command. “Give me a name? Is it the Sinaloa Cartel? Are they the ones who approached Santiago to lure Evaline to that shipping depot?”
Charity shakes her head.
“Please, you have to understand,” she pleads again, her voice shaking with fear and desperation. “It’s been right under your nose this whole time. They’ve always been working against you, against your father. Since the very beginning. Me—” A gunshot suddenly cuts through the air, and chaos erupts around us. People scream and duck for cover as glass shatters and bullets fly.
All I can focus on is Vitali, who has thrown himself over me to shield me from harm. His gun is in his hand as he quickly assesses our surroundings. “Mr. Nakamura,” Ray’s voice calls out, boots thudding on the ground as he approaches us. “Are you all right?” I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Shit,” Adrian whispers beside me, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. I turn to see what he’s looking at and feel my stomach lurch when I see Charity LaMontagne lying on the ground in a pool of blood, a bullet between her eyes. The shot wasn’t meant for me.
Someone was after Charity LaMontagne, and I inadvertently led them straight to her. She was our best lead in finding out who was behind the attack on Evaline, and now she’s dead. I’ll have to break this news to my wife, whose relationship with her mother may have been strained, but she was still family.
My heart breaks a little at the thought of having to tell Evaline that her mother is dead. The guilt weighs heavily on my shoulders as I realize this will break my wife’s heart. And thinking about the devastation on her face has my heart breaking too.