“They assumed there’d be hesitation while we recalibrated after our father’s death. Or, maybe we’d stay focused on the Boudreauxs and miss what was moving through our own channels.”
“Fuck them,” Rhodes mutters.
I don’t respond. Revenge is part of it, but that’s not all this is. It’s about making sure the ports and everything that depends on them keep functioning the way they should.
“We didn’t move without confirmation,” I continue. “The man responsible for our father’s death claimed Laurent Boudreaux ordered it. Under the circumstances, that was enough to make it plausible.”
I pause.
“But Laurent lived long enough to clear his name. We’re not allies. We never will be. The evidence holds, and I know he didn’t order it.”
The image comes anyway. Dark hair against white sheets. The weight of her hand on my chest. The way that first mistake folded her into all of this before I understood what it would cost.
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the table until the moment passes.
“I don’t think anyone would have lost sleep if you’d puthim down anyway,” Beau says, drawing a few quiet nods around the table.
I slam my hand down once. Hard enough to stop it. That isn’t why we’re here.
“What were they running before this?” Rhodes asks. He’s still orienting himself, still learning where the weight actually sits. It’s a fair question.
“Small contracts,” Vin says before I do. “Import-export, mostly. Inexpensive electronics and short runs out of China and Southeast Asia. Low margins, low scrutiny. They took whatever business would clear and didn’t ask many questions.”
The kind of freight no one flags. The kind no one remembers.
Wells turns his laptop toward the table. A map fills the screen, shipping lanes threaded with red markers.
“They ramped up fast,” he says. “Usage quadrupled in under a month as their volume spiked. Frequency increased, and they stopped bothering to spread it out. They definitely found a supplier that was willing to use them to bring their products to the US.”
I study the map. The overlap is obvious now, even if it wouldn’t have been at first. I’ve gone over it enough times to know exactly where it breaks.
“They needed ingress they didn’t have,” I say. “Lanes. Space. Throughput. When Dad shut that door, they ran out of options.”
The room stays quiet.
“This was the only way they could keep it moving.”
Wells nods. “Every one of these routes ties back to a shipment since he was killed. Several were previously under Stone control.”
“They didn’t ease in,” Gabe says quietly. “They took.”
“Ambition made them sloppy,” I say. “They assumedour father’s death would leave enough chaos to create a gap.”
“And they assumed our attention would stay fixed on the Boudreauxs,” Vin adds, leaning forward, his hands clasped on top of the table. “Alton’s directing it, but his son’s handling the docks. Colin’s loud and brings hired muscle to make a point. Roman LeClair and Denny Mays follow money, not loyalty.”
“And Alton?” I ask.
“Stays back,” Wells answers. “Calculated and patient. He’s been underestimated for years, and now he’s testing how far he can go.”
“Takes nerve to think you can remove Robert Stone and step into his place,” Gabe says.
“They believed if they could put the Stones and Boudreauxs at war with each other, no one would bother policing the channels, and then they would continue to grow and consolidate their power,” Wells adds.
“Exactly,” I say.
“They built something quietly, and the plan almost worked.” I lean forward, forearms resting on the table. “Almost.”
The room holds that.
