Alex nodded and leaned forward in her seat. “Alistair and I have been disturbed by the growing lack of income equality in our country. And while some may find it ironic since we’re supposedly part of the problem, we’d actually like to be part of the solution.”
“That’s very noble of you, Mrs. Davenport,” Reese said.
“Please, call me Claudia. I’m not an old spinster just yet.”
“Okay then, Claudia. I’m honored that you would consider A Hand Up for a charitable contribution. Is there anything else that you might want to know about our organization first?”
Hawk nodded. “As a matter of fact, there is. We happened to stumble across A Hand Up while searching for non-profits that work to eliminate income inequality by breaking cycles of poverty. And while you tout your successful work on your website, we had a difficult time finding much about what you do in the general media. If you’re having so much success, why aren’t there more stories out there about what you’re doing? I mean, I work in real estate, and aside from the mantra of location, location, location, every good realtor knows he’s only as good as his marketing, both of his skills and his offerings.”
Reese drew a deep breath before answering. “The truth is we don’t want to manage hundreds of small donations because everyone in the non-profit world knows that chasing down twenties and fifties isn’t going to help you ultimately accomplish your goals. And that’s what you get when you spend money to tell everyone how great you are. We generally seek out donations privately from foundations and philanthropic-minded individuals like you.”
“That’s understandable,” Alex said. “If you’re going to be successful, you have to understand your revenue stream and how to make that best work for you.”
“Exactly,” Reese said. “And the fact that you understand that makes me all the more excited to accept your gift, that is if you are still serious about considering A Hand Up.”
“Of course we are,” Hawk said.
“Well, in that case, I don’t want to pressure you or anything of that nature, but we do have an amazing opportunity if you are considering making your donation within the next week,” Reese said.
“What kind of opportunity?” Alex asked.
“We have a very generous donor who’s agreed to not only match any gift within the next week but triple it with a corresponding donation. In other words, your one hundred thousand dollar gift could become a four hundred thousand dollar gift. And that money would go to aiding hundreds of people who sstruggle to escape poverty’s grip on their lives.”
“Only a hundred thousand?” Hawk asked. “Is that all you were expecting out of us?”
“Well, I’ve learned not to make any assumptions,” Reese said.
“Oh, stop it,” Alex said, playfully hitting Hawk. “You’re just itching to tell him how much we’ve considered giving this great organization, aren’t you?”
Hawk shrugged and smiled. “You know me so well, dear. But you know we’re not quite ready to make this donation today. However, I would like to hear the terms of that triple gift match once more. How long do we have?”
“One week from today,” Reese said. “Again, I don’t want to pressure you, but it would be an incredible opportunity for us to expand so many of the programs we have here in the city.”
Hawk stood and offered his hand to Alex, who joined him. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Reese. I appreciate you answering my questions. You have a lovely charity here, and we’re excited about making a contribution that will help further your efforts. I’ll be in touch—and it will be within a week, that much I can promise you.”
Reese ushered his two potential donors to the door and thanked them profusely. Hawk and Alex hustled down the steps to the limo that was waiting for them just outside and didn’t say a word until they got inside.
“We need to call Blunt,” Hawk said.
Alex nodded in agreement. “Something big is going down next week.”
“And we need to be ready to stop it,” Hawk said.
CHAPTER 6
New Orleans, LA
BLACK AWOKE EARLY and hustled out of his hotel toward Café Du Monde in the French Market. The streets were relatively empty at seven o’clock in the morning as most tourists were still recovering from a night of revelry. Outside the bars, workers swept the sidewalks as they cleaned in preparation for another wave of customers eager to drink the day away. Dodging piles of trash bags and ambitious joggers out for a run, Black rounded the corner and was blasted by the wafting smell of his favorite beignets. He didn’t come to New Orleans for the food, but it was a savory perk.
Black placed his order and waited patiently at one of the tables in the open-air section of the restaurant. Pigeons strutted around in search of stray crumbs or half-eaten pastries that had tumbled to the ground. While most people stared at their phones while eating, Black took the time to survey the clientele. It wasn’t necessary, but it helped him keep his mind sharp. He saw a pair of undercover detectives as well as one pimp and two drug dealers mixed in with a sea of business professionals, both young and old. Everyone of them piqued Black’s interest to some degree as he wondered about their stories. Why was the elderly gentleman in a three-piece suit eating with a sharply dressed woman who was at least forty years his junior? Or what was the story of the anorexic-looking girl with tattoos covering her arms and legs, eating alone and reading a Tolstoy novel? He enjoyed visiting Du Monde as much for the vast array of customers as he did for the food. But he wasn’t in New Orleans for either. He was here to capture Fortner.
Black finished his food and headed toward Bourbon Street and all the potential recent sales of homes that fit the timeframe for when Fortner appeared to
