I nod. “Inform her what I just did, and then tell any staff who don't want to deal with the cops to get the hell outta here. I'm going to go have a chat with Peter.”
Nathan nods, but doesn't move. “What?”
He looks like he's about to say something, but instead pats me on the shoulder. “De Oppresso Liber. Free the oppressed. For too long, I betrayed that motto,” he says instead. “Thank you for reminding me what right and wrong are.” I nod and pat him in return.
“Thank you, Nathan. Now let's go do what we need to do.”
I leave the foyer and cut through the dining room out to the pool area, where I see Peter sitting in a lounge chair next to a picnic table, his gut hanging out over the waistband of his ridiculous Speedos. It’s definitely swimwear that might look appropriate on me, but not on a man over fifty and carrying the extra weight he is.
In the pool, a young woman is swimming, most likely his newest girlfriend judging by the thong string bikini and long blonde hair streaming behind her as she kicks under the water. He’s so absorbed by the sight of her ass flexing that he doesn't hear me until I'm nearly on top of him. When he does, he has the balls to just give me a cocky smile. “Ah, so you finally got over your little temper tantrum. Good to have you back, Jackson.”
“Little temper tantrum,” I repeat softly, musing. I go around and sit in the other chair at the table, surprised I'm not in a total rage, but instead icy calm and focused. I've changed so much since that night in the limo with Katrina. “After all that you've done, including having the woman I love killed in front of me, you have the stupidity to call the past three weeks a temper tantrum?”
“Well, hasn't it been?” he asks, smirking. “I mean, the bitch hurt our family. Nathan told me what happened, and I'm glad that you've finally come home. Now, how about you wait here, and you, me, and Kendra can have a nice dinner together.”
“Bringing your girlfriends into the home now even,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, enjoy it for another hour or two. It'll be the last.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asks, suspicious. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, not much. I just took all of Katrina's evidence, and there was a fuck-ton of it, and sent it to the cops, feds as well as the local news, and the blogosphere. I bet if you look right now, you'll find pictures of you with women, with gangsters, or maybe with a former governor of this state. Best of all, I've got the e-mails and files that you sent to coordinate the faking of Sam Grammercy's death. Did I mention he was arrested in Miami thirty minutes ago?”
Peter goes pale, and about that time Kendra comes up from another lap, and notices me for the first time. “Oh, hi! You must be Jackson!”
“Leave,” I reply, not taking my eyes off Peter. “We have some family business to discuss. Go home, and don't come back.”
Kendra stops, looking to Peter, who is staring back at me, and I'm not taking my eyes off him for a second. Kendra huffs, then gets out of the pool. In my periphery, her toned backside is the last thing I see of her as she disappears into the house.
“I don't think she'll be back.”
“You inconsiderate little shit,” Peter rasps, his voice quaking in fury. “I gave you a house, raised you, let you do what you wanted, and all I asked for was your loyalty. And you couldn't even do that.”
“No, what you did was give me money, nothing else. You never loved me, you never raised me, and the only example you gave me was how not to be a man. You wanted me to just spend your money and stay out of your way while you acted like a pig. Well, I found something more important than money, and you took it from me. So now I've got nothing to lose, and for the first time in my life, I'm doing the right thing. So fuck your money, and fuck you. I should kill you, but I won't. Enjoy prison.”
It's cathartic, saying what has been burning in my heart for years, and I feel strong as I stand up, walking past him. He stands up, and tries to grab my arm, but I turn and kick, my foot planting directly in his stomach and sending him stumbling backward onto the lawn, where he lies, groaning and holding his belly. “You broke my ribs, you little shit!”
“For twenty-two years, you broke my heart. I guess that makes us even,” I say calmly before I go to the door. Inside, I hear chaos breaking out as the remaining staff passes along Nathan's warning. I can hear the sirens in the distance, and I know we've only got a few minutes, five or six at most.
I see motion off to my right, near Peter's office, and I go over, finding Andrea inside. “What are you doing?”
“What should be done,” she says, opening the combination safe that has rested behind a painting on the wall for years. I didn't know she had the combination, but I'm not surprised. Andrea's known so much for so long.