Page 18 of Hurricane Irene

Twenty minutes later Lia, Marie, and Jean stepped into the now over-crowded safe space of the clinics waiting area. Members of FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, were sitting at a table, arguing with several people on different cell phones.

An old man was holding his tiny dog in his arms, tears streaking down his face. Another man and his wife were clinging to one another and a third, a woman alone, were all standing as if expecting divine intervention.

“What’s going on?” Jean asked the FEMA agent.

“These poor folks were just trying to make a claim on their properties, get things rolling. We always try to help since our satellite phones are working.”

“I get it,” nodded Jean. “But what’s the problem.”

“Fucking insurance companies, sir,” said one of the other agents. “These folks lost everything. Literally their entire lives were swept away. Most insurance policies in this area will cover hurricane damage, roofs, windows, that sort of thing but won’t cover flood damage.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Marie. “Hurricanes cause flooding. Why wouldn’t it cover that?”

“It does if you pay for flood insurance but the cost is ridiculous. No one can afford flood insurance. But their insurance company, all the same by the way, says it won’t cover any of it. There was an artfully worded clause claiming it wouldn’t cover ‘acts of God’, hurricanes being one of those, nor would it cover flooding created by it.”

“That would mean it wouldn’t cover anything weather related,” said Lia.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what it means,” said the agent. “My apologies. My name is Jackson Moore. This is Alton Moore, we’re not related. And that’s Clint Edwards. We’ve been trying to work through this but I’ve never seen anything so corrupt in all my life.”

“What’s the name of their insurance companies?” asked Lia.

“Well, that’s another strange thing. They all have the same provider. Pelican Insurance.”

“Pelican,” repeated Jean with a sneer.

“Yes, sir. We spoke to all of these folks and they got their coverage through different agents, all young women. The women can’t be reached but that’s not uncommon given the circumstances. But when we call the 800-number for the main agency, they’re all saying there’s no coverage for them other than a small ‘personal items replacement’ clause.”

“How small?” asked Marie. Jackson looked at Marie, then at the people in tears across from them.

“Five-hundred dollars.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” growled Jean.

“I wish I were, sir. I think these folks have been paying for homeowners insurance that wasn’t worth a damn. Even the extra flood clause they paid for isn’t worth the paper it was written on.”

“Great. Just great,” frowned Marie.

“That’s not all, ma’am,” said Alton. “They paid an extra five-hundred a month for that coverage. These are people who couldn’t afford that coverage to begin with. They gave up medical treatment, medications, all kinds of necessities because they thought this would protect their homes.”

“Do we have an address for the corporate offices?” asked Jean.

“We have one. I think it’s just a satellite office on the other side of Lake Pontchartrain. No one is answering the phones,” he said writing out the address and handing it to Jean, “but it doesn’t mean you couldn’t find something useful.”

“Jean, you take this information back to the others and get some sleep. Lia and I will stay and try to help these folks. We know that our emergency funds can help them rebuild since they’re part of our extended community. We’ll help them.” Jean nodded.

“I’ll send a few others to lend you a hand,” he said.

“No need,” said Charlie walking toward them with Sophia Ann, Kate, and Gwen. “We thought you might need some extra help. Go let the boys know what’s happening and we’ll do what we can here.”

“Thank you,” smiled Jean. He turned to the three individuals who were still waiting to hear some form of good news. “Don’t worry folks. We’ll get this handled for you.”

CHAPTER NINE

CC, Dalton, Frank, and Bron took one of the larger boats through the bayou and headed into Lake Pontchartrain. At this point water was the fastest way to get anywhere.

As it happened, the office of Pelican Insurance was on the banks of the lake, a massive stone building looking more like a mansion than a business. They tied off the boat to the businesses own dock.

Moored, at least half-way, on the other side was a massive yacht. A telephone pole had speared its hull, the yacht now half-way in the water.