Page 27 of Hurricane Irene

Calder stood at the window with a glass in his hand, looking down at the Pelican Insurance sign two floors below.

“By morning,” he said, “they’ll be filing again. Same roofs, same walls, same people who never read what they sign.”

Voss lounged at the scarred table, shirtsleeves rolled high, a stack of policy forms spread before him like playing cards. He tapped one page with a blunt finger.

“They read it. They just don’t understand it. That’s different.”

Lenora Vale sat opposite him with a legal pad balanced on one knee. On the television, forecasters traced the next storm line toward Louisiana.

“FEMA teams are already in the disaster zone,” she said. “When the new rain arrives, they’ll examine every disputed claim twice.”

“Let them come,” Voss said. “We sold exclusions, not promises. Wind, surge, concurrent causation—every word is on the page. Every signature is at the bottom.”

Lenora looked at him.

“Every signature obtained after your agents were told to describe the exclusions as clerical language.”

Calder smiled without turning.

“Prove it. Most of the local records are underwater, half the parish offices are closed, and everybody is blaming the storm. By the time Washington knows what it’s looking for, the money will be somewhere it can’t reach.”

Voss’s confidence dimmed at the word money.

“The accounts are one problem. The agents are another.”

Lenora’s pen resumed its slow movement, though there was nothing on the page.

“The women you hired understood the fine print before the homeowners did. Two copied the training scripts. One saved a voice message. All seven threatened to go to the authorities.”

The conference room seemed to contract around the fluorescent hum. Calder finally turned.

“Do you think they were alive when the hurricane reached the station?”

Voss rubbed his thumb along the edge of a policy form.

“They were chained above the first flood mark. The structure was concrete. That is all I know.”

“And the rain coming tonight?” Lenora asked. “The levee report says another foot of water could cover the access road. If they survived Irene, the next band may decide the rest.”

Voss gave a small shrug that failed to look careless.

“Then we never know.”

Lenora closed the legal pad.

“We may not know. The authorities will, eventually. If the bodies are found with anything tying them to this agency, the policies stop being our largest concern.”

Calder set his glass down.

“Nobody is looking for them. Rescue crews are stretched across southern Louisiana, and nobody in Beaumont knows where they went.”

“If they’re dead,” Voss said, “silence helps us. If they’re alive, they know enough to ruin us.”

“You should have confirmed it,” Lenora said.

Voss looked toward the television.

“The roads were already going under. I was not driving into a hurricane to inspect your decision.”