“Dad would’ve probably assigned this out,” I continue. “He’d keep distance and protect the structure. But this isn’t that. I want to be the face of it. I don’t want distance.”
I twirl the pen once, then set it down. “We intercepted one of their shipments and waited. They didn’t respond.”
“So do you think they realize they’ve been caught?” Rhodes asks.
“Wells doesn’t think so,” I say. “But we’re about to find out.”
I straighten. “I’m done waiting.”
My gaze moves deliberately from face to face. No one interrupts.
“So, in light of all this, are we aligned?”
No one argues.
“Good. Then I’ll see this through.”
Rhodes runs a hand through his hair, still watching me. A slow grin tugs at his mouth.
“Wells,” I say, “lock down location and timing.”
“On it.”
“Vin and Rhodes will monitor dock activity and lane movement. Rocky, you’ll handle the pickup once Wells confirms.”
“Understood,” they say.
I turn to Rocky. “When Wells gives the word, you move. Call me as soon as you have him.”
“Roger.”
Chairs scrape back. The room clears without conversation, but I stay where I am for a few moments longer, letting the silence settle around me.
The chair across from me sits empty. The wood is marked where my father used to rest his hands, worn smooth by years of habit. The overhead lights hum, loud now that no one is speaking.
I set my pen down and lean back, lacing my fingers behind my head. We’re doing this.
The smell hits first.
Blood and sweat hang in the air, sharp and metallic, thick enough that I register it before I register the room. It clings to the walls, the floor, the chair. Whatever happened here before I arrived has already been absorbed and cataloged, filed away as inevitable.
Alton Duvall is barely upright. His wrists are bound to the arms of the chair, shoulders slumped forward, head tipped at an angle that tells me he’s past pain and somewhere closer to the edge of endurance. One eye is swollen shut. The other tracks me when I move, unfocused but alert enough to understand what this moment is.
Colin sits a few feet away beneath the same flickering bulb. He’s upright and awake, breathing too fast. He keeps looking at his father, like he’s waiting for him to fix this, like authority might still mean something if he believes hard enough.
Outside, laughter drifts in through cracked concrete. There’s music and someone shouting over a bad costume. Halloween in the city. Life continues on schedule while this finishes in the margins.
Alton lifts his head with effort. Blood slides from his lip and lands on his shirt.
“Ridge,” he rasps. “This doesn’t need to happen.”
I crouch in front of him, lowering myself until we’re eye level. I don’t rush it. I don’t raise my voice.
“You don’t get to decide what needs to happen,” I say. “You crossed a line, and now you will reap the consequences.”
His eye flicks briefly toward Colin.
“You and Stone Intermodal worked together for years. My father graciously rented a warehouse and opened his lanes to you,” I continue. “You moved product, you made money, he made money. The city was big enough for both of you.”
