Page 147 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

Delphine’s purse would drop to the polished hardwood floor. The tears would come—real, cleansing maternal tears.

Look at what he built for you, baby, Delphine would whisper, pulling Truth into her arms.

Then, she would turn to me. She wouldn’t reach for a weapon. She would look at my clean linen shirt, at the calm in my eyes, at the way our daughter reached out her little arms for her daddy.

I was wrong about you, Kaisen, she would say, her rough voice breaking with genuine humility. You took her out of the blood. You gave my grandbaby a heaven on earth. God forgive me for doubting you.

I would take her weathered hands in mine, kiss her cheek with the deep reverence she deserved, and lead her to the head of our dining table.

There’s nothing to forgive, Mama, I would tell her gently. You were only trying to protect them from Amai. But they’re safe now. We’re family.

We would have Sunday dinners every week. Real Creole gumbo simmered on our commercial range, Honor and Saroya bringing their children up for summer vacations, Raven finally letting go of her bitter street cynicism when she saw how a real gentleman treats a Renois woman.

Every objection had an answer. Every wound had a balm.

I had solved the entire equation.

I closed the leather journal, capped my fountain pen, and stood up from the desk.

I padded silently across the thick wool rug toward the bed. Then I climbed beneath the duvet, sliding across the cool sheets until my chest rested gently against Truth’s back.

She stirred slightly, letting out a soft, sleeping sigh, her body warm and pliable against mine.

I draped my arm over her waist, resting my hand over her stomach, feeling the slow, perfect cadence of her breathing. Across the room, our daughter slept without a sound.

Outside the reinforced windows, the black river rolled on toward an endless horizon, carrying us further and further away from a world that had never deserved us.

I buried my face in the curve of Truth’s neck, closing my eyes, wrapped in the absolute, unshakable warmth of my family.

I had never been so happy in my entire life.

Chapter 26

AMAI

The war room smelled of cold chicory coffee, dry paper, and the bitter copper tang of pure exhaustion.

I hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was the empty crib in the nursery down the hall, the pale blanket folded over the railing exactly the way Truth had left it before Kaisen walked into my home and took everything that mattered.

My hands were shaking. I pressed both palms flat against the mahogany table to steady them, staring down at the wall-to-wall printouts spread across the surface.

“Look at the delivery dates,” Priest said, dropping a thick stack of invoices onto the table. The heavy paper landed with a dull thud. “Stop looking at the street cameras, Amai. We already know Kaisen didn’t use the highway corridors. He avoided every major toll and traffic monitor between Orleans Parish and the state line.”

“He had to move them somewhere,” I rasped, my throat raw from days of shouting orders and chain-drinking black coffee. “He’s got a nursing mother and an infant who needs clean formula, filtered water, and pediatric care. He can’t keep them in a trunk.”

“He’s not keeping them in a trunk,” Priest said, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite me. He tapped the top invoice with a blunt fingernail. “He spent eight months building a ghost.”

I leaned over the papers, blinking through the stinging grit in my eyes.

The invoices weren’t under Kaisen’s name. They were routed through four separate corporate shells—Pelican Point Logistics, Gulf Rim Marine Holdings, Bayou State Outfitting—entities registered in Delaware and funded through offshore trusts Victor Baptiste had set up three years ago before we took his empire apart. Kaisen had quietly hijacked the dormant accounts during the Rahsaan purge, using Victor’s old legitimate supply lines to purchase high-grade residential materials.

“Look at the line items,” Priest said quietly.

I scanned the manifests.

First was a commercial-grade reverse-osmosis water filtration system, capable of producing six hundred gallons of purified drinking water daily directly from brackish river water. It was shipped to a private boatyard off the Harvey Canal eight months ago.

Next was a pair of industrial marine diesel generators—the kind designed for continuous, whisper-quiet off-grid operation, outfitted with heavy sound-dampening baffles.