While Evie was still staring at the receiver, trying to work through all those unspoken messages, Mavis bustled in carrying a bag from Gertie’s. “I brought lunch, dear. I need to run over and talk to Bill at the bank. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“It would help if you’d explain tax notices to me instead of calling on Bill.” Evie rummaged through the bag.
“When you’re old enough, dear.” Mavis pattered off.
She was twenty-five, for pity’s sake. How old was old enough?
“Your mother has a very weird bubble.” Loretta munched her sandwich and watched out the window. “Do you think I’ll ever learn what the differences mean?”
“I think it takes years of study and paying attention to people. Are you prepared to do that?” That’s what Evie had done, but she’d lived here where there weren’t many people to study.
Could she take her knowledge into a larger world? Not that anyone would hire her anywhere for her gift.Sheknew she could be useful in ways well beyond reading auras. Convincing others was another matter.
Loretta shrugged. “Not much else to do when you’re a kid.”
“You could collect recyclables, sell them for cash, and contribute the money to charity. I imagine there are a lot of things you could do.”
“Did you do that?” Loretta picked through her bag and found the cookies.
“I did, but I had to use the money to buy book bags and things. I didn’t have an allowance.” And the shop barely made enough to cover groceries, which was why it was convenient the family owned it outright.
Huh, and having entire families own property made them almost impossible to mortgage. What if taxes came due and no one could pay them?
* * *
Jax sat backin the ridiculously uncomfortable vanity chair in Great-Aunt Val’s sixties bedroom and studied his computer screen.
He’d spent the better part of his thirty years pleasing Stephen Stockton out of an excess of gratitude for being offered a home and education. He’d always thought his adoptive father a busy but honest and generous man. He’d worked hard to please him. It hadn’t been until he’d actually joined the firm that he began to see Stockton’s aggressive behavior for what it was.
Admittedly, Jax wasn’t an open book either. After returning from service, he’d joined the firm to look into the reason his birth father had been accused of fraud and kicked out. No one would talk to him about it and the files were locked up. Now, if he were made partner... To do that, he had to listen to Stephen and return to Savannah, Loretta in tow.
If he continued in his current direction, however, he’d be lucky to keep his job. And Ariel was likely to be booted from the house.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t shove facts aside just because he didn’t like them. Stephen Stockton wasn’t exactly the charitable man a younger Jax had believed.
His cell rang with Roark’s number. Grunting, he answered it.
“Stockboy meetin’ with da mayor and the CEO of a holdin’ company for Lakeland. Mic in lobby of City Hall picked up Stockboy swearin’ about you and some chick in a shit shop who gave him the run around. Give your lady a high five from me. He usually don’ get riled with clients.”
Jax rubbed his temple as he translated Cajun to English and fought back a small smile just imagining the scene between the Space Cadet and Stephen. His adoptive father still lived in a world where women were ornaments. “Evie is not my lady. She’s more like a hostile witness. You didn’t call me to high five Evie.”
“Right. I’m reportin’ I got mics all over City Hall—but dey have a sound jammer in the board room. Why would public officials want to block their constituents from hearin’ city business?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question. These deed books you’ve sent me don’t line up. You know that, don’t you?”
“All I’m doin’ is filmin’ anything I get my hands on.Mais,you’re getting paid da big bucks to interpret. Have you gone through them files from da mayor’s real estate company?”
Like Reuben, Roark had a degree from MIT and could talk ivory tower English when he wished. He just had a lot of unaddressed issues.
“The mayor’s files are good for tracing the lot numbers, except they’re not agreeing with the photos you’re sending me of the deed books. I’ll need a survey for the big picture of who owns what around the pond. At this point, I’m not entirely sure why I’m looking. John Post is dead. We can’t send him to jail if there’s any fraud involved.”
“You give up now, and we quit,” Roark warned. “Even my fried brain can tell you da deed books been shuffled. That tax notice your lady give you is from old books and don’t agree with da new tax files online. Reuben’s about to pop a gasket. Someone will want to see this.”
“But if I’m looking at the new taxpayer list correctly, and this map is right, my client owns all that property,” Jax warned in exasperation. “You want to dig up the old files and send a kid to jail? What exactly is your end game here?”
That was a stupid question to ask an anarchist. Roark didn’t need a defined goal other than bringing down the Man. Except Jax happened to be the Man in this case. His client, his duty to defend.
“Kid don’t need millions anyway. Cover your ass because we got copies.” Roark hung up.