Uh-oh.“This way.” She led him to the office, and Hez rose from the floor. “Dad needed to talk to you too.”
Her dad hadn’t even noticed the refinishing of the floors or the new paint on the walls. He’d made no comment about the furniture or anything, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. Only greenbacks mattered to him.
Her father strode toward Hez. “I’ve got a present for you—for both of you—but Hez will best know what to do with it.” He set a fat file folder on the desk and topped it with a thumb drive.
Hez picked up the items. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s everything you need to stop Michael Willard from corrupting your nephew. Private investigator reports, surveillance pictures of his activities, and other documents that will show his criminal behavior. No judge will let him have influence over Simon when the truth comes out.”
Hez leafed through the documents and whistled when he reached a raft of pictures. He turned it around for Savannah to see, and she winced at what appeared to be a dead man on the ground. “Is this what you offered to sell Hez?” she asked her father.
“It is. My money is running out and I’d hoped to shore up my finances with the sale, but I can’t stand by and let Michael get by with his arrogance. The information goes back thirty years to when I used it to beat him when he tried to steal your mother. He’s still the same. I’ve got evidence from a month ago that will prove a leopard doesn’t change his spots. With the new proof, you can get Simon back.” He took Savannah’s hand. “It’s my gift to you. You and Hez have proven you’re an effective team. I thought about using it on my own, but in Hez’s hands, you’ll get more done.”
“Why now, Dad? What happened today? You were livid when you got out of the car.”
His lips flattened. “Michael brought Simon to my country club. He had the gall to say I embezzled money from the university—in front of my date, no less. He spewed all kinds of lies and showed doctored pictures.”
Savannah had her doubts about that when his gaze cut away from hers. She should have known only something personal would drive him to give up this information. “I suppose you want money.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not why I’m here. You have to take that man down permanently, Savannah. He can’t ever treat another Legare like he did me today.”
Hez’s blue eyes gleamed and he smiled. “I’ll study what you’ve given us. It seems promising, though I’m not seeing as much detail in the newer stuff.”
Dad nodded. “He’s been more careful in recent years. No direct involvement with crimes when he can avoid it. He used burner phones and voice-altering software for all his business. Even when contacting his family, his voice never sounded like himself. He kept everyone guessing. But I got everything I could.”
Hez put the file down. “Thank you. We love Simon and want him out of Michael’s influence.”
Her father’s chest puffed out beneath his navy jacket. “When I saw the boy drinking in every word Michael said, I knew I had to do something. There was no love lost between me and Jess, but it’s not Simon’s fault. He’s a good kid, and I’d hate to see him turn out like Little Joe.”
Savannah wished she could believe it was concern for Simon that had driven him here today, but she knew better. It was the slur to his own reputation and the fact Michael had dared to confront him on his own turf. No one could ever say Michael cared what people thought, though, and her father couldn’t stand that kind of impudence when he cared so deeply about his role in the community. But she’d take whatever help she could get to save her nephew.
Hez had been trying. He really had. Savannah had asked him to leave the investigation of Michael’s crimes alone, at least until after their wedding. But the investigation wouldn’t leave him alone. First came Tammy’s arrest, then the mystery phone bill on Savannah’s doorstep, and now Pierre’s file. It wasn’t completely Hez’s fault that he and Savannah were sitting in Hope’s office less than a week before their wedding, but he still felt guilty.
As the Websters seated themselves in Hope’s guest chairs, she smiled at them and kicked off her three-inch heels. She’d just come back from court and hung her jacket on a hanger on her coat tree. “Thanks for coming in.” Her chin-length brown hair swung forward, and she tucked a lock behind her ear, then patted a thick stack of documents. “The new materials you provided include a lot of helpful context. Do you have anything else that could help us fill in some gaps?”
Hez leaned forward. “We’re happy to help. Did you have any specific gaps in mind?
Hope picked up the top document. “Mr. Legare’s file contains strong evidence of drug trafficking—mostly meth—but a lot of it is over thirty years old.”
Hez wrinkled his brow. “I thought there was no statute of limitations for drug trafficking.”
“There isn’t, but the DA won’t invest resources in a drug case from the 1990s, especially when the defendant is a prominent local businessman from an old family.”
Savannah scoffed. “Are you sure you’re describing Michael Willard?”
Hope gave her a sympathetic look. “I know he isn’t what heseems, but the rest of the county doesn’t know that. They see a successful businessman who donates to local schools and”—she cleared her throat—“supports local leaders.”
Hez rubbed his temples. “He donated to the DA’s campaign, didn’t he?”
Hope’s tone and brown eyes were blank. “I can’t comment on that, but all campaigns must disclose itemized contribution records. That includes district attorney campaigns, of course.”
Hez swallowed an unhelpful remark. “Okay, so you’re not likely to prosecute the older stuff. What about the more recent evidence in the file?”
Hope picked up some documents and flipped through them. “It’s more tenuous, unfortunately—anonymous and somewhat vague reports of Michael trafficking in Mexican explosives and American guns and engaging in artifact smuggling, pictures of him with known mobsters, and so on. If you or Mr. Legare have any additional evidence, we’d really appreciate it.”
Savannah slumped, but Hez wasn’t surprised. He’d had the same reaction when he read the newer materials in Pierre’s file. Michael learned his lesson from his confrontation with Pierre over Marie, and he’d been more careful in recent years. “We’ll ask, but I’m not aware of anything. What about that highlighted phone bill someone left for Savannah?”
Hope plucked a copy from her stack. “The number belongs to a burner phone purchased with cash in Mobile four years ago. Any surveillance video is long gone, of course.”
