Magdalene (62 page)

I never wanted to leave that paradise, but
eventually we went home to Pennsylvania—

—where I got the news that Greg Sitkaris was
right where I wanted him.

Homeless. Helpless. With no way to make any
kind of legitimate living because my people knew where he was at
all times, which bridge he lived under, where he went to beg for
work, and that he’d finally turned to prostitution.

I wondered how he liked catching instead of
pitching.

Mitch was at work when I got the phone call,
so I didn’t bother to contain my glee. I laughed so loudly the
kitchen echoed it back at me.

“How are the women faring out there with you
all?”

“Very well,” Morgan said. “They seem to like
it here, and we’re in the process of getting their names changed.
They’ll be living in the same ward Giselle and Bryce and I do while
they get used to being on their own.”

“Witness protection, Dunham style.”

“That’s right.”

“What about Shane Monroe?”

Mitch didn’t know I had had his
father-in-law in my sights, but it didn’t matter. I had no
intention of ruining the man’s life.

“We, ah,
encouraged
him to never,
ever
try to contact Mitch or his kids again.”

“Outstanding. You did break the news to him,
I hope?”

“Of course.”

The fact that the man Shane had trusted and
loved as a son had stolen from him to the point of destitution
would be its own revenge.

“Did you shred all those documents I sent
you?”

“And burned. After Knox tucked every detail
into his brain.”

“What?”

“He has a photographic memory.”

“That’s handy.”

“You have no idea. I take it you’re no
longer worried about a premature death?”

“Let’s just say Mitch put the fear of
God—and your family—into anyone who even thinks about looking at me
wrong. And do you really think anybody’s going to take the chance
that since
he
knows, you all don’t?”

He chuckled. “Probably not.”

I paused. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Oh, hell, we didn’t have anything better to
do.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you— How do these
sorts of very un-Christ-like activities square with your
theology?”

He took a deep breath and released it as if
he were debating how much to say. “Um... We Dunhams...kind of see
ourselves as an instrument of the Lord’s vengeance. My grandfather
was a bit of a rabblerouser. Made sure to pass it along.”

“Oh, my God. I married into a pack of
megalomaniacs.”

“As if you aren’t.”

I laughed.

“Everybody’s here for a reason, Cassie,” he
said with the humility I’d come to expect from him in matters
spiritual. “That reason varies from person to person. I truly
believe
our
mission, mine, my family’s, is to be the
bullwhip used to clean the moneychangers out of the temple. If it’s
not, we’ll account for ourselves on Judgment Day and take whatever
punishment we get. But when we get there, we’ll be able to look the
Lord in the eye and say we did our best to protect and clear a path
for those weaker than us.”

“Oh, blah blah blah,” I said. “At least I
don’t dress my sins up in all sorts of philosophical mumbo jumbo to
be able to sleep at night. Fucking hypocrites.”

He laughed. “I guess we are pretty Old
Testament about it, huh?”

“Just a little.” I drummed my fingers on the
granite and said briskly, “Okay. Time to up the ante.”

“Phase two is already in progress. Not sure
how long it’ll take Sitkaris to break completely, since he knows
who he’s up against, what we’re after, and why—he’s stubborn and
clever—but he’s also acquired a drug habit. If we have to, we’ll
pull out the big gun to get him on board.”

“Giselle.”

“She can be very persuasive.”

“Excellent. Keep me posted.”

* * * * *

Revelation

July 2012

Mitch sped through the countryside, lavender
fields flashing by in a blur of brilliant purple, the sun glinting
off the chrome of his Bugatti, leaves and debris exploding into the
air behind his high-performance tires. He lived one hundred and
thirteen kilometers from the nearest ward building and he adored
every narrow twisting kilometer of it. He loved this, having time
to himself on the road to race against no one—in the daylight, when
he was happy, instead of in the dark, working out frustration and
anger.

Going directly home after church, no
responsibilities because he was a visitor—and had been everywhere
in the world they’d been thus far, being
Brother
—not
Bishop—Hollander.

He was forced to slow once he reached the
village, and it was only another couple of kilometers until he
turned onto the gravel road that would take him home. He saw it
come into view, the off-white stucco and the red barrel tiles on
the roof, surrounded by fields of purple, and wondered if there
would come a time he’d want to leave.

Mitch parked next to Cassandra’s red Mini
Cooper convertible. The shoe, he called it, to her annoyance, but
at least he’d been able to talk her into the one with some power.
She, however, would not be able to talk him into getting rid of his
car, no matter how much she hated it.

He got out and the smell of bread and
lavender wafted on the summer breeze, an odd combination, but not
unpleasant and really rather comforting.

Clarissa sat at the kitchen table scribbling
furiously on a legal pad, her law textbooks in front of her, all
contained in an electronic tablet—Dr. Hilliard had given her a
project that guaranteed she would not see the sun her entire summer
vacation.

Trevor lay outside in a hammock slung
between two trees, wrapped up in and making out with one of the
local girls, both of them fully clothed. He’d be going back to New
York in the fall for his junior year at NYU.

Cassandra’s sleek black hair was tucked
behind her ears as she stood at the kitchen counter, in a sundress
and apron, covered in flour, kneading a loaf of bread.

Beautiful.

Mitch went to his wife and swept her into
his arms for a lusty kiss.

“Mmmm, I could fuck you right now, Mitch
Hollander,” she whispered against his lips, opening her clear
golden-brown eyes.

“I’d take you up on that, but—”

The sounds of another car in the driveway,
doors opening and closing, and a low conversation carried easily
through the open windows.

“But Mama, I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care what you want,” said the mama,
amused but unsympathetic. “You’re taking a nap after lunch.”

“But—”

“Duncan,” said the daddy, his hoarse voice
giving extra heft to the stern tone.

Mitch and Cassandra chuckled together as he
cradled her in his arms, his mouth against her lavender-scented
hair.

“Cawissa! Cawissa! Cawissa!” A small boy
with a shock of orange hair burst into the house and ran straight
for her. She hugged him and kissed him and tickled him until he
squealed. “Will you take a nap wiff me?”

“Sure thing, baby boy. Come over here on
this side of me and you can help, okay?”

Bryce and Giselle Kenard walked in just
after that, dressed as casually as Mitch, perfect for a hot summer
Sunday.

“Four years old and he’s already taking
girls to bed,” Giselle muttered and eyeballed her husband. “Apple
didn’t fall far from that tree.”

Bryce smirked and snatched a date out of the
fruit bowl on the table. Giselle sat by Clarissa when the girl
gestured to her for help on her assignment.

“How’d you like it?” Mitch asked.

“Ah, church in a foreign language. Reminds
me of the first few sacrament meetings I went to on my mission,”
Bryce said.

“They speak English in Scotland, right?”

Bryce said something that didn’t sound like
any language Mitch had ever heard. “So that was English,” he
concluded. “And you didn’t understand a word I said.”

“I love it when you do that, Ares,” Giselle
purred. “Now come whisper Gaelic obscenities in my ear.”

Bryce laughed and sat with his wife, and
did, in fact, whisper in her ear.

Mitch grinned and looked at Cassandra.

“Happier than usual, I see,” she murmured
huskily, her mouth against Mitch’s cheek. “What’s the
occasion?”

“No occasion,” he murmured in return.
“Beautiful day, gorgeous wife, great kids, good friends and good
food. Could it get better?”

“Yes. Good wine, which I have chilling in
the fridge.”

Mitch rolled his eyes.

“Just because you insist on remaining a
teetotaler doesn’t mean Clarissa and I have to be.”

A soft chime rang through the house, pulling
Mitch away from Cassandra, surprised. Very few people could get in
touch with them that way. Mitch picked up a small remote and aimed
it at the massive screen hanging on the kitchen wall opposite the
long farm table.

Sebastian’s face came up on the screen.
“Bonjour, Elder,” he said heartily.

“Bonjour, Elder,” Mitch said, wondering what
had happened that warranted a video call. “Little bit early for
you, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s lip curled at Mitch’s French.
“Is that
Provençal
creeping into your accent?”

“Parisian accents are suspect around here,
you know that. Had to get rid of it. Fast. Now speak English.”

“Okay, well. Bonjour, everybody. Where’s
Trevor? Getting laid, I hope?”

Mitch was the only one who didn’t think that
was funny, but it was too nice a day to get huffy about it.

“So Cassie told me this would be a good time
to call, and I see that we’re all here. Good, good.”

Mitch cast a glance at Cassandra who smiled
her nose-wrinkling smile.

“Looks like you have a nice place. We may
have to crash your little Shangri-La. So my news—”

“Eilis is pregnant. Again.”

“Oh, no. I am now shooting blanks. Four is
all I can handle and one more would’ve forced us into permanent
celibacy for lack of time and privacy. Justice is taking over as
head breeder of the pack. Nope. Not that.”

“Okay, so...?”

“We caught ’em.”

“Who?”

“The Jep Industries embezzlers.”

Mitch thought his heart had stopped. “What?
All
of them?”

Sebastian grinned wide. “Every last bastard.
Made national news. Kenard, you helped us decorate for the party,
but then you didn’t show up to partake in the festivities. What’s
that about?”

“Wouldn’t
you
rather be in
Provence?”

“Not this week.”

A news segment flashed onto the screen and
Mitch watched, stunned.

Yesterday in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania,
Gregory Sitkaris was arrested on charges of insurance fraud and
racketeering. Sitkaris, a former employee of Jep Industries who was
laid off when the company was absorbed by Hollander Steelworks nine
years ago, revealed to authorities the embezzlement scheme which
prompted financier Sebastian Taight to close J.I.’s doors. In
exchange for immunity from embezzlement charges, he gave the D.A.’s
office a list of those involved in the destruction of J.I. and full
details on how the scheme was carried out. All twelve suspects have
been arrested and arraigned.

The former CEO of J.I., Senator from
Pennsylvania Republican Roger Oth, was not implicated in the
scheme. Taight and his team, the so-called “Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse,” held a press conference after the arraignment.

The news feed changed.

Sebastian, in black, looking more cold and
ruthless than Mitch had ever seen him, stood in front of a bank of
microphones on the steps of the Lehigh County Courthouse, Knox and
Morgan to his right and Nigel on his left. Arrayed thusly, they
looked no less terrifying than Sebastian.

“God, they
are
,” whispered Clarissa.
“The apocalypse.”

Mitch couldn’t disagree.

“Nine years ago, Senator Roger Oth called me
to fix Jep Industries, and what I found was a nest of vipers buried
so deeply in the heart of that company that it would have folded
within a month, leaving its employees with no savings and no
recourse, as well as destroying over a dozen other companies that
employed thousands of people. My cousin, Knox Hilliard, came up
with the plan to dismantle J.I. so that Hollander Steelworks could
quietly absorb it and keep it running and, at the same time, secure
the employees’ investment accounts from theft. We did that.

“Roger had been set up by his team to take
the fall should it come to light. If he had called me sooner, if he
had let me do my work without the need for a complete hostile
takeover, all of this could have been avoided, but he fought me
every step of the way. Regardless, Knox and my other cousin, Morgan
Ashworth, my friend Mitch Hollander, and I have tried for almost a
decade now to prove these people guilty.

“It wasn’t until Greg Sitkaris took out a
personal vendetta against Mitch that the pieces began to fall into
place. Corporate restructurer Cassandra St. James and investment
banker Nigel Tracey had new information that we didn’t have and
couldn’t get any other way.

“We are not here today to vindicate Senator
Oth. We are here to represent the employees of J.I. and, on their
behalf, demand the Senator make restitution to them for the time
they spent out of work because of his incompetence and his team’s
thefts.

“It’s unfortunate that Roger felt the need
to pillory me and my family in the press, and drag us to Congress
for attempting to protect him from prosecution. Considering he had
put no safeguards in place to prevent such wholesale theft and
didn’t understand what was happening to his company even after I
explained it, much less that I was trying to shield him because I
knew he was innocent, I seriously question Roger’s intelligence and
his effectiveness in serving his constituents. I can only hope the
people of Pennsylvania take this into account at the next election
cycle.