Distribution network - Q2 updates
Port authority contact - Payment confirmed
My finger hovers over the trackpad. I click on the shipment email even though I know it’s wrong.
It’s from Silas, dated two weeks ago. The text is coded, but not coded enough that I can’t understand it.
The merchandise from Prague arrived on schedule. Five containers cleared customs without issue, thanks to our contact at the port authority. Standard hotel furniture and art pieces on the manifests, but the special items are secure in the hiddencompartments. Distribution to the network is scheduled for Friday night. All buyers confirmed.
I click on another email. This one has attachments. Invoices for hotel furniture. Shipping manifests for art pieces from Eastern Europe. But there’s also a separate document. Encrypted, but I can see the file name:Inventory - Restricted.
I shouldn’t open it. I know I shouldn’t.
I open it anyway.
The password prompt appears, but Ledger’s computer remembers it. The file opens.
It’s a spreadsheet. Columns of numbers and codes I don’t fully understand. But some things are clear enough.
Firearms. Ammunition. Quantities. Prices. Distribution points throughout New York.
And another section: Pharmaceutical imports. Weights in kilograms. Street values. Buyer networks. Drugs.
He’s smuggling drugs and weapons into the country, hidden in shipments meant for his legitimate hotels.
I close the laptop so fast I almost knock it off the desk.
My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. I feel like I’m going to throw up, and it has nothing to do with pregnancy nausea.
This is what he does. This is how he makes his money. I knew he was connected to the Bratva, but seeing it laid out in a spreadsheet, seeing the quantities and prices and distribution networks, makes it impossible to pretend I don’t know.
My husband is a criminal. A real one. Not just someone with shady connections, but someone actively running a smuggling operation.
And I’m carrying his child.
That evening, I hear voices in Ledger’s office. I’m in the kitchen with Marie, supposedly helping her with dinner prep, but really just trying to act normal.
“—customs got too close this time,” Alexi is saying. “Pedro said they almost opened container 449. If they had, we’d be screwed.”
“But they didn’t.” Ledger’s voice. “Our contact came through. That’s why we pay him.”
“What if he gets nervous? Decides the money isn’t worth the risk?”
“Then we find a new contact. There’s always someone willing to take the money.”
“And the distribution went smoothly?”
“Everything’s moved. The buyers are happy. We’re clear until the next shipment.”
I set down the knife I’m holding, my hands trembling too much to keep cutting vegetables.
Marie notices. “You alright, dear?”
“Fine. Just tired.”
“You should rest. Let me finish this.”
I escape to my office and close the door, leaning against it.
