That tracks. Perfectly. My father didn’t collect leverage for show. He collected it so he never had to scramble later.
“And after?”
“We went through them together,” Vin continues. “Your dad shut the whole thing down and told Duvall to figure something else out for his transit. They weren’t happy, but no one expected them to take it this far.”
I watch his face as he speaks. The cadence stays steady.
“You think these tie into what happened to him?” I ask him.
Vin nods slowly. “Yeah, absolutely, I do. Makes a lot of sense now why he thought he should document, and it makes sense Duvall wanted him out of the way.”
He stops there, jaw tightening slightly, then exhales through his nose. He hesitates, just long enough to choose his words.
“There’s something else,” he says. “I didn’t think it mattered at first. But now that we’re certain it’s the Duvalls, I think it does.”
I sit up straighter without meaning to. “What?”
“I was at their warehouse that night,” Vin says. “Hours before.”
My pulse kicks, sharp and immediate, but I keep my posture still. I don’t interrupt. “You were there? Why?”
“Dane and Ronnie reached out,” he says, naming the same men Iggy did. “They wanted to meet. Claimed they had another proposition or some bullshit. I told your father, and we both agreed I should hear them out to keep our finger on the pulse of what they were doing if they were bringing product into New Orleans.”
That detail matters. He didn’t freelance. He didn’t decide on his own. He looped my father in, the way he always did.
He pauses, then continues. “Met them at the warehouse on Burgundy. They were pissed I showed up alone.”
“So what’d they say?”
“They wanted to move a shipment through our docks quietly that night, and I said no. They wanted to hear it from Robert, and I said the answer would be the same regardless.”
“And you walked,” I say.
“Yep,” Vin replies. “I was there less than five minutes.”
The room stills around us. Five minutes. In and out. Enough time to confirm intent. Not enough to get entangled.
“And you didn’t tell me once he was murdered there? Doesn’t that seem important after the fact?”
“At the time, it didn’t register as anything more than another failed attempt,” Vin says. “We were chasing Boudreaux. You saw Juno do it, and I knew he was Laurent’s guy. I figured Duvall was just using the chaos in the aftermath to his advantage.”
I drag a hand through my hair. Anger flares, heat rising up my neck. Not on Vin. Not even on my father. It settles backward instead, heavy and useless. On timing. On misdirection. On the days we lost chasing the wrong threat.
“Jesus, Iggy,” I mutter.
“I would have focused on Duvall if you hadn’t seen it and heard otherwise with your own ears,” Vin says quietly. “It all happened so fast.”
The silence stretches, filled with the muffled thrum of music bleeding through the walls. The sound feels distant, like it belongs to another room, another version of tonight.
“I’ll dismantle what they’re running,” Vin says, his voice hardening. “Just tell me this is enough for you to move forward.”
I nod slowly. “It is. I want to talk to my brothers first, though. I’m sitting down with them tomorrow. No more half-measures.”
Vin stands. “I’ll be there. Shoot me the when and where.”
After he leaves, I sit back, staring at the photos still spread across the table.
Vin’s explanation fits. The timing. The faces. The motive. All of it locks into place.
