I glance at the blueprint spread in front of us. The paper’s smudged with motor oil and someone’s blood, but the routes are clear. If we strike now, fast and ugly, we cut the cartel’s north push and clean out the rat’s whole operation.
“I say we hit them hard,” I answer. “But not with rage. With math.” That gets a few raised brows. “Emilio Calderon’s shell company’s got a legit pipeline contract in the east district. But the books are bad, he’s laundering with double vendors and shadow bids. I already filed the tip anonymously. By this time tomorrow, the city will freeze his assets.”
Jordyn looks up from his tablet with wide eyes. “You serious?”
I nod. “Neither Calderon nor Las Estrellas Negras won’t see us coming because they’ll be scrambling to cover everything up. That’s when we hit his distro spot. Two birds, one stone.”
I feel Aria step closer behind me. Her voice, low and precise, floats over my shoulder. “If you’re right, freezing his assets gives you forty-eight hours at most before the feds start sniffingaround. You need someone in place to reroute attention when they do.”
I glance back at her. “You volunteering?”
She shrugs one elegant shoulder. “I’ve got a couple of favors I haven’t called in yet from my old firm. City zoning and corporate fraud are hobbies now.”
Her presence, cool, professional, dangerous in heels or boots, settles over the room like a second skin. Dad eyes her once but doesn’t object. That’s as close to a blessing as you get around here.
Dad stares at me long and hard. Then he gives a slight nod. “Draw it up. We ride when you say we’re ready.” Dad slams the gavel onto the table, signaling the end of Church.
I find Jordyn Cox, the Club’s accountant’s son, in the back office, legs kicked up on the desk like he’s running the damn club. There’s a calculator in one hand, a highlighter in the other, and three spreadsheets spread across the table like crime scene photos.
Jordyn doesn’t look up when I walk in. Just punches a few keys, frowns, then jots something down in the margin with surgical focus.
“You always break into secured offices,” I ask, leaning against the doorway, “or is this a special occasion?”
Jordyn finally glances up, smirking like a fox that has already robbed the henhouse. “Dad gave me his keycard. Said if I thought something was wrong, then prove it.”
“And did you?”
He nods toward a manila folder on the desk. “Page three.”
I flip it open. Laundry reports. Dummy shell transactions. A few highlighted lines with matching vendor names, but wildly different amounts.
“Oil drums?”
“Nonexistent,” he says. “Three different suppliers, all billing us for products that never shipped. Whoever's behind it is smart enough to ghost the inventory trail, but not smart enough to vary the dates.”
I do the math in my head, then double-check his numbers. They’re right. Too right. “How much?”
He leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head like he’s got all the time in the world. “Eighty grand last quarter. Possibly more if they keep shifting the payment cycles.”
I whistle low. “You’re what… fifteen?”
“Almost sixteen,” he corrects, flipping to the next binder. “Dad caught me hacking the garage vending machine at twelve. Thought I’d be trouble. Turns out I’m good at paperwork.”
“Does he know you’re cleaning up his messes now?”
“Hetoldme to fix it,” Jordyn says, matter-of-factly. “Guess he finally figured out I’m better at it.”
While Jordyn explains the vendor scam and I’m triple-checking his numbers, Aria leans on the edge of the desk, sipping lukewarm coffee. “The paper trail’s solid,” she says. “But the vendor names? They’re pulling from defunct LLCs. That’s cartel laundering 101.”
Jordyn raises an eyebrow, impressed. “You a lawyer or a mob wife?”
She grins. “I was born in Detroit. I can be both.”
I close the folder, watching Jordyn work. His eyes flick across rows of numbers like he’s reading a foreign language he was born fluent in. “You ever think about doing this full-time?”
“I thought thiswasfull-time,” he says, scanning another ledger. “You guys don’t have a financial fail-safe. One of these days, a real audit’s gonna hit, and it’s gonna hurt.”
I let out a slow breath. Kid’s not wrong. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
