The Last Mrs. Parrish(106)

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to give you a little going-away present,” Daphne answered sweetly, pulling a small package out of her handbag.

“What the hell are you talking about? Get out of my building before I have you thrown out.” Jackson picked up the phone on his desk.

“Don’t you want to see what I have, Jackson? The gift I’ve brought for you.”

“I don’t know what your little game is, Daphne, but I’m not interested. You’re boring me. You always bored me. Get the hell out of here.”

“Well, guess what. Your life is about to get really interesting. No more boredom.” She tossed the package onto his desk. “Here you go. Enjoy your time away.”

She opened the door and held her breath when she saw the men from the lobby advance toward the offices. Their faces were unsmiling and ominous.

Jackson and Daphne turned to look as Douglas escorted the suited quartet into Jackson’s office.

Daphne stepped aside as one of the men held out his credentials. “Jackson Parrish?”

Jackson nodded. “Yes.”

“FBI,” the older agent said, as the others fanned out around Jackson.

“What is this all about?” Jackson’s voice cracked as he raised it. The office was now deathly quiet. Chairs pivoted toward the commotion, all eyes on Jackson.

“Sir, I have a warrant for your arrest.”

“This is bullshit. For what?” Jackson said, his voice having returned.

“For thirty-six counts of wire fraud, money laundering, and tax evasion. And I assure you it is not bullshit.”

“Get the hell out of here! I haven’t done anything. Do you know who I am?”

“I most definitely do. Now if you would kindly turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“I’ll sue your asses. You’ll be lucky to be writing parking tickets when I’m through with you.”

“Sir, I am going to ask you one more time to turn around and put your hands behind your back,” the agent said as he firmly pivoted Jackson, leaning him against the wall.

With his cheek against the wall, he sputtered, “You! This is your doing, isn’t it?”

Daphne smiled. “I wanted to see the justice system in action. You know, it’s educational. You taught me that I should always be improving my mind.”

He lunged for her, but the men stopped him and cuffed him. “You bitch! No matter how long it takes, I’ll get even with you.” He struggled against the agent holding him. “You’ll be sorry you did this.”

A rather large agent standing behind Jackson pushed the chain of the cuffs that were in his hand gently toward the ground. Having no choice, Jackson dropped to his knees, wincing in pain.

Daphne shook her head. “I’m not sorry. And you can’t hurt me anymore. You have no one to blame but yourself. If you hadn’t gotten greedy and set up those offshore accounts, and if you’d paid taxes on that money like you should have, none of this would be happening. All I did was make sure your new assistant was someone with the integrity to turn you in.”

“What are you talking about?”

Douglas came and stood next to Daphne. “My sister has CF. Daphne’s foundation saved her life.” He looked at one of the men and nodded.

“Excuse me, ma’am . . . sir, I need the two of you to step back, please.” The agent sneaked in a wink and a wry smile. “Let’s go, Mr. Parrish,” he said, lifting him off his knees and in the direction of the elevator.

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t forget your present, Jackson.”

She grabbed the package from the desk and slipped it into his pocket.

“Sorry, ma’am. I need to see that.” The tallest of the men put his hand out.

She took the package from him and unwrapped it, holding up a cheap plastic turtle from the dollar store. “Here you are, sweetie,” she said as she dangled it in front of him. “Something to remember me by. Like you, it has no power over me anymore.”





Seventy-Three




Daphne had one more stop to make. She got out of the cab and told the driver to wait for her. It still felt strange, having to ring the bell to her former home. Margarita opened the door and threw her hands up in surprise. “Missus! It’s so good to see you.”

She gave her a hug. “You too, Margarita.” She lowered her voice. “I hope she’s treating you okay.”

Margarita’s face became a mask, and she looked around nervously. “Did you come to see Mister?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m here to see Amber.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I be right back.”

“What are you doing here?” Amber appeared, looking rail-thin and pale.

“We need to talk.”

She looked at Daphne suspiciously. “About what?”

“Let’s go inside. I don’t think you want your staff overhearing.”

“This is my house now. I’ll do the inviting.” She pursed her lips and then looked around nervously. “Fine, follow me.”

Daphne followed her into the living room and took a seat in front of the fireplace. An enormous portrait of Amber and Jackson on their wedding day had replaced the family portrait. Even though Amber had been pregnant and showing at the time, she’d had the artist paint her sylphlike, without the bulging belly.