Fifteen kilos. Two hundred thousand dollars. Product.
Drugs. He’s talking about drugs.
I shake my head, hoping it’ll dispel the thoughts, then I open my laptop and get back to work on the Q4 marketing campaign.
The next conversation I overhear is two days later.
Alexi is in Ledger’s office, and I’m in mine with the door cracked open because the penthouse gets stuffy sometimes.
“The Brooklyn Heights building is operational,” Alexi says. “Petrov’s people moved in last week. First shipment went through clean.”
“Good. What about the tribute?”
“Four percent, just like you agreed. Came through yesterday.”
“And our own operations?”
“Running smoothly. The new contact at the port authority is better than the last one. Hasn’t asked questions, hasn’t caused problems.”
“Keep it that way. The moment someone gets greedy or nervous, we replace them.”
“Understood.” A pause. “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Does Savannah know? About all of it?”
My breath catches. I lean closer to the door, straining to hear.
“She knows enough,” Ledger says carefully. “She’s not stupid.”
“And she’s okay with it?”
“She’s still here, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, but—” Alexi sounds uncertain. “This is different from the legitimate businesses. If she really understood what we do?—”
“She understands more than you think.” Ledger’s voice is firm. “And she’s stronger than you’re giving her credit for. She chose this life, Alexi. All of it.”
Did I? I’m not sure I consciously chose anything. I just kept staying, kept accepting, kept loving him despite everything I learned.
But maybe that is choosing.
The next conversation happens during dinner.
Silas stops by to drop off some documents, and Ledger invites him to stay for the meal that Antoine prepared. I’m at the table, eating pasta that I’ll probably regret later, when they start talking business.
“The distribution network needs restructuring,” Silas says. “Too many people handling the product between the docks and the buyers. Every hand it passes through is a risk.”
“Agreed. What do you propose?”
“Cut out the middle layers. Go directly from the warehouse to the buyers. Less exposure, less chance of someone skimming or talking.”
“And the people we cut out?”
“Compensate them. Give them other roles. Keep them happy so they don’t become problems.”
Ledger nods, considering. Then his eyes flick to me. I’m not hiding the fact that I’m listening or pretending to be absorbed in my food. He holds my gaze for a moment, and I see the question there.Is this okay? Are you okay?
