While Lincoln watches me with satisfaction, I hand him the rifle, then sit at my desk and grab a legal pad and a pen.

“What the hell you doing now?” he asks, checking the bolt action on the Remington.

“Writing a holographic will.”

“Christ. A lawyer to the end, huh?”

“Let’s hope not. But let’s not pretend this isn’t a high-risk play.”

He shrugs. “Can’t lie about that.”

As I start to write, I have difficulty making the letters clear. I’m not that drunk. Then I realize that adrenaline is flooding my system, making fine motor tasks difficult. I try to breathe deeply and regularly as I finish the note.

March 17, 2006

To Whom It May Concern,

I, Penn Cage, being of sound mind and body, do here attest that I wish to add a codicil to my existing will, which should remain in force but with these additional bequests added. To Mia Burke, in appreciation for her generous aid in taking care of my daughter during a painful time (and for her critical work during the trial of Drew Elliott two years ago), I leave $150,000. To Keisha Harvin, who worked bravely to complete Caitlin’s work to bring the Double Eagles to justice, and who suffered disability at their hands, I leave $100,000. The remainder of my assets and copyrights I leave and/or assign to my daughter, Annie, less the smaller bequests listed in my existing will.

Penn Cage

Lincoln watches me scrawl my name, then lets out a long whistle.

“You’re really handing out the candy, aren’t you?”

“Both those girls need money. I’d leave you something, but Dad fixed up that trust for you. Besides, your chances of making it through the next few hours aren’t any better than mine.”

He chuckles with appreciation. “My truck’s parked one block over. Can you take care of your security guys?”

“Yeah,” I say, getting out my phone.

“Oh, I’m gonna need that when you’re done.”

“Need what?”

“Your phone. In about twenty-five minutes you’re going to figure out where we’re going. And you’re not going to be texting anybody our route.”

Chapter 75

The main road north out of Natchez is U.S. 61, the blues highway. If you stay on 61, it’ll carry you up to Vicksburg, then to Yazoo City and the Mississippi Delta. But there’s a far older road that runs north from my hometown—the Natchez Trace—and Lincoln takes it once we leave the lights of Natchez and its outlying settlements behind.