“But you two were dating,” retorted Francine.
“No we weren’t. He had some crazy-ass fantasy about me. Told me I was Wonder Woman to his Superman. He creeped me out. I told him to leave me alone. But unlike Doug, Bruce had no problem playing in the reindeer games.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He paid my father to have sex with me. And it was not voluntary. My old man had to hold me down.”
“He never tried that with me.”
“He wanted to, trust me,” said Rochelle, who was now looking off like Doug had been.
“Then why didn’t he?”
“Because he had me instead. I figured if he did the shit to me, he’d leave you alone. In fact, I made him promise to leave you alone.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Twelfth Night?”
“What?”
“You were a much better actress than I was. I could never get Viola’s cadence right. Or really get into the spirit of her character. I just memorized the lines and regurgitated them when I was supposed to.”
“I heard the performance was well received.”
“It should have been you onstage, not me.” Rochelle paused. “That was one reason why I let Bruce do what he did to me.”
“And the other reason?”
Rochelle looked at Doug. “You’re his sister. That means you’re precious to me. And just in case you’re wondering, as soon as Bruce saw us when he opened the door at his house he went after Dougie with a machete. Dougie didn’t have a choice. It was him or Bruce.”
“Why did you even try to find him?” asked Francine.
“He had something of mine that I wanted back.”
“What?”
In answer Rochelle lifted a small gold necklace off her chest. “Your brother gave it to me. Worked his ass off doing construction when we were in New Mexico. Bruce took it one time when I was forced to have sex with him. Next thing I knew his father croaked, and he and his mom vanished.”
“How did you find him?”
“Remember, I worked at the marshal’s office cleaning shit, too. I found what I needed to find. Unlike us, Bruce and his mom kept in touch with the WITSEC folks. But old Bruce thought we were there for another reason, I guess. Like revenge for raping me. Anyway, he tried to cut Dougie’s head off before Dougie showed him who was the better man.”
“I saw the aftermath. Didn’t look to be much of a struggle.”
“We cleaned it up. And put Bruce in the bed. We knew the cops would probably figure shit out, and they’d never believe it was self-defense, even though it was. Dougie was a lot bigger than Bruce, but I guess Bruce still thought he was Superman.”
Francine looked at her brother, who was now rummaging in his pocket. He pulled out another smoke and lit up.
She turned back to Rochelle. “You cut my neck.”
“I never said I was completely good,” noted Rochelle. “Or entirely sane.”
“You went to visit Harry. How and why?”
“We were looking for him all that time. Finally found him. Dougie went in to negotiate with him. Basically, he gives us a share of the money if we don’t expose him. Then Harry tells Dougie that he’s dying and basically to fuck off.”
Francine said, “I talked to the housekeeper. She said Dougie told her to get another job and it was because he knew Harry was dying?”
Doug nodded. “Yes.”
Francine slid the gun into her jacket pocket. “I’ll get the money. Tell Mommy I said hello, and that I’ll be back for her. And that we’ll all live happily ever after.” She started to walk away and then turned back. “It was good to see you, Dougie.”
Her brother nodded, and didn’t glance away this time. He watched her leave, even as his fingers curled around Rochelle’s in a firm, unyielding grip.
Chapter 76
“Can we meet?” said Gibson.
She was on the phone with Francine, who had just gotten back from her encounter with Rochelle, and her brother.
“Yes, same place?”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Gibson drove over in her van and found Francine waiting for her in front of the café. She had on a floppy hat, glasses, and a dark blue suit.
They sat outside with iced teas, and Gibson opened her laptop.
Before she could show what was on it, Francine said, “I found my mother. And I saw Rochelle and Dougie.”
“What! How?”
Francine explained her method for tracking them down.
“Pretty ingenious,” noted Gibson. “But you left her there?”
“She’s actually far happier with them than she was at the facility in Greenville. And they won’t let anything happen to her. They want the money.”
“Okay. So... how was your brother?”
“In some ways the same, and in some ways different. I was going to try to figure out how to get him away from Rochelle.”
“And?”
“And then I realized he was happy with her. In fact, I think they were made for each other. Sort of threw a wrench in my plans.”
“Of what, reuniting your family?” Gibson said dubiously.
She gazed off. “I’ve spent so much time alone that... well, I thought I might try another slice of life.”
“But?”
“But I can see now that that won’t work. Too much time has passed. We’re all too different.” She looked at the laptop. “So, show me what you found.”
“You know about NFTs?”
“I do, but don’t tell me my father did, too?”
“It looks like it.” Gibson clicked on some keys and then held the laptop at an angle so Francine could see. “I found a bit of dangling code on one of the accounts that your father had closed out. I think he did that on purpose, sort of another breadcrumb to the treasure. So I followed it up.”
“Well, NFTs are definitely twenty-first century,” remarked Francine.
“Yes, they are. So that fits in with the note he left.”
“But what sort of NFT could he have dumped a half billion dollars on?”
Gibson gaped. “Is that how much money we’re talking about?”
“That’s what I calculated, yes.”
“Holy shit.”
“ ‘Holy shit’ probably doesn’t cut it.”
“I found this.” She hit one more key, and an image came up on the screen.
“That’s a room,” noted Francine. “Where is it?”
“Heard of the metaverse?”
“The nonreality reality where we all have avatars doing shit we could either do for real, like going to a party or attending a concert, or insane stuff we would never do for real, like BASE jumping in a wingsuit.”
“Right,” said Gibson. “And you can also buy stuff that doesn’t actually exist. Well, it does in the metaverse. Including real estate. Anything from a house to ad space at a football stadium, at least virtually.” Gibson pointed at the computer screen. “That room is in a piece of real estate Harry bought on the metaverse.”
“Where is it located?” asked Francine.
“That I’m not sure about. The digital trail was obscured for some reason. Usually, it’s pretty well laid out.”
“What’s that on the walls?”
Gibson hit a key to zoom in. “Artwork.”
Francine leaned in for a better look. “What sort of artwork?”
“Digital images of famous pieces of artwork. I’ve already identified them.” She used her cursor to hover over each. “This is a Degas, that one’s a Monet, the one on the left is a Vermeer. The three along this wall, the first one is a Winslow Homer, the next a Mary Cassatt, and the last one is a John Singer Sargent. There are others, in other rooms. But you get the gist.”
“Okay, but these are digital copies, not the real things. How much could they be worth?”