I dismiss him and head into the guest house. Simone's at the kitchen table with her laptop, coffee cup beside her. She looks up when I enter.
"What did they find?"
I don't soften it. "Encrypted communications between your uncle and a contract killer named Marcel Fontaine. Directmessages ordering Julien's execution. Payment trail of a hundred thousand dollars. We have proof Armand ordered the hit."
Her face goes pale. "They can charge him?"
"Murder for hire. Federal case. Combined with the surveillance, conspiracy, and kidnapping charges, your uncle's going to federal prison for the rest of his life."
"And the killer?"
"Cleared out before they could arrest him. Professional exit, knows they're onto him." I grab my coffee, drink it black and bitter. "Andy thinks he's still in the city. You're a witness who can testify against Armand. Fontaine might be cleaning house, eliminating anyone who can connect him to the murder." I lean against the counter.
She stands, crosses to the counter, and leans against it beside me with a weary sigh. "When does this actually end?"
"When we put him in the ground or in a cell. He's getting sloppy, we're closing in." I set down the cup. "But until then, you follow protocols. No arguments, no testing boundaries. He's a professional killer and you're in his crosshairs."
"I understand."
She's been under constant threat for weeks. The board meeting, Armand's arrest, the media siege. Now this. The cracks are forming.
I pull her against my chest, feel the tension locked through her body. She doesn't cry, doesn't break down. Just holds on.
"I'm tired, Luc." Her voice is muffled against my shirt. "I'm tired of being scared. Tired of looking over my shoulder. Tired of waiting for the next threat."
"I know."
"How much longer?"
"As long as it takes. But Fontaine made a mistake staying in the city. We'll find him."
My phone buzzes. Text from Remy:
Fontaine spotted on surveillance. French Quarter, near Jackson Square. Moving units now.
I show Simone the screen. "They've got eyes on him."
Hope flickers across her face before caution kills it. She's learned not to count on anything ending cleanly.
"What happens now?"
"We wait." I pocket my phone. "FBI and NOPD are coordinating the takedown. Remy's running point with our team. We stay here, secured, until they have him in custody."
The day grinds on. Updates come in fragments. Fontaine spotted, then lost. Surveillance camera catches him near the riverfront, then nothing. He's moving through the city with the kind of operational awareness that says he knows he's being hunted.
By late afternoon, we still don't have him. Simone works from her laptop, handling business calls and emails like she's not sitting in protective custody waiting for a contract killer to be caught. I coordinate with Remy, review surveillance footage, and catalog Fontaine's movements looking for patterns.
"He's casing locations," I say on the phone with Remy. "Watch his route. He's not running. He's planning something."
"Agreed. Question is what."
By evening, I realize what Fontaine's doing. "He's hunting loose ends. Simone's not his only target. He's eliminating anyone who can tie him to the job."
"Who else would know?"
"Anyone Armand used to coordinate the surveillance operation. Staff at Dominion who might have seen him. The attendant who helped plant cameras." I pull up the list of peopleconnected to the case. "He's working through a kill list before he disappears."
Remy's quiet for a moment. "We need to get ahead of him. Identify his targets, protect them before he moves."
