“Nice to see you. Here’s the check,” he said, handing it over to the man.
“Grateful for it, truly. I just don’t understand why you’d want land that ain’t good for nothin’ anymore. My family hasn’t grown crops here in more than a hundred years now, and the house ain’t worth nothin’. Even the historical society said it wasn’t worth saving.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t want anyone to accuse me of taking advantage of you,” said the man.
“Mr. Beauregard, I assure you I know what I’m doing. Now, if you accept the check and sign the papers, this deal will be done.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, shaking his head. He signed the papers, taking the check from the man and walking toward his waiting car and wife. As they drove away, they watched him pour gasoline on the old house.
“He’s crazy!” said his wife.
“He’s definitely touched. A man pays all that money for a house that ain’t worth nothin’ then sets it on fire? Something’s wrong with him.”
Hampton watched as the home burned, the crackling of dry wood giving him peace. There were three massive trees in the front, along the old carriageway. His men were cutting those down now and tossing them into the fire.
It was working. He could feel the pain in his chest easing. It was working. When the last of the beams on the house fell inward, he sat in the SUV, watching it burn to ashes. There were no images, no whispers, no stabs of pain that could ruin his day now.
“Should we call the fire department now to be sure it gets doused?” asked his man.
“Yes. Make sure they know it was set intentionally. We’ll come back later to clear the debris.”
It was a lie. They’d never return to this location again. He’d sell the land back to the bank or to someone who wanted to rebuild on the property, but he didn’t want anything to do with it. It was done. He was done. At least with this property.
“Back to New Orleans?” asked his man.
“No. We have one more here in Mississippi. We’re headed to Vicksburg.”
Mississippi had pockets of beautiful land. Rich with timber, beautiful river views, and unique history, it was a land that offered a lot for a man wanting to prove himself early in the country’s existence.
Hampton had nothing to prove, but he did have a few things to settle. He’d contacted the Thompson family about their farm several times, but they’d refused to answer him. The next best thing was to see them in person.
“This is the address,” said his driver.
He stared at the dilapidated old farmhouse, the front porch leaning heavily to the left. The ruins of a once regal antebellum home was about four-hundred yards behind it. This one looked as though it had once been a sharecropper’s shack and at some point, built onto.
As he stepped out of the car, a man stepped onto the porch with a shotgun.
“Whoever you are, get back in that fancy car and go home. I ain’t buyin’ nothin’.”
“I’m not trying to sell you anything,” said Hampton with his hands raised. “I’m here to make you a rich man.”
“Mister, I don’t need your money. I’m already a rich man. Got a wife, kids, home, and a farm that gives me what I need. All you rich folks think because we ain’t drivin’ fancy cars or wearing fancy suits that we ain’t rich. We got plenty, and then some.”
“I understand,” said Hampton, smiling at him. “You’re a rich man indeed. But I’m prepared to offer you five times what this place is worth.”
“And I’m prepared to say no. You’d think all them e-mails I ignored would tell you that.” Hampton chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping to cause enough blood that he might spit in the other man’s eye.
“Name your price,” he said definitively.
The two men behind him stared at one another, then back at their boss. Had he lost his mind? The property was a shithole. It wasn’t worth a tenth of what he was offering.
“Listen, you don’t get it. This is my home. Been my family’s home for almost three hundred years. My ancestor took it from the Indians. Fought fair and square for it.”
“Fair and square,” repeated Hampton under his breath. He wondered if he told the man that they were related if it would make a difference. He doubted it, and besides, it would sound positively insane. “The Indians fought for what they owned. Your family stole it from them.”
“For a man who wants this property, you ain’t helpin’ yourself none. It’s my land. I own it outright, and I ain’t movin’. Now, get off my property, or I call the sheriff.”
