Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Family
The investigation into the origin of the photographs led us deep into the underbelly of our own organization. If the photos were delivered to child services locally, the person who dropped them off had to have been in Milwaukee.
I called an emergency meeting at the Syndicate's downtown headquarters—a high-rise building that masked our operations behind a legitimate real estate holding firm. Surrounding the long glass table in the penthouse boardroom were five men: my inner circle. Men who had controlled districts, managed shipping lanes, and enforced my will for over ten years.
There was Dominic, my chief financial officer; Victor, who controlled the docks; Sal, who managed the street-level security; Paulie, the strategist; and Marcus, my head of personal security.
"Eight years ago," I began, sitting at the head of the table, my hands resting calmly on the dark glass surface, "we lost Julian. We all grieved. We all bled in the war that followed."
The men nodded grimly. Paulie sighed, pulling out a cigar. "Dark times, boss. We almost lost the city back then."
"We thought the Marcones pulled off a brilliant ambush," I continued, watching every single eye around the table. "We assumed they had wiretapped our phones or bought off a dock worker. But yesterday, I received information that Julian survived that night."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Victor almost dropped his pen. Sal leaned forward, his brow furrowed in disbelief.
"Julian's alive?" Victor asked, his voice shaking. "Andrew... how is that possible? We identified the body!"
"We identified a body burned beyond recognition wearing Julian's ring," I corrected cold-bloodedly. "A dental match was confirmed by a coroner whom we paid off to speed up the process. A mistake I will regret for the rest of my life."
I leaned forward, locking eyes with each of them in turn. "Julian didn't run away because he was a coward. He ran because he believed I betrayed him. He believed someone inside this room gave the Marcones his coordinates, and he thought I gave the order."
Silence, thick and suffocating, descended on the room.
"Boss," Sal stammered, raising his hands defensively. "You know none of us would ever—"
"Someone did," I interrupted smoothly. "And that same someone discovered three months ago that Julian was still alive and hunting for the truth. Someone took my brother out of play, and when they realized his children were under my roof, they sent photos to Child Protective Services to force a federal investigation. They wanted state agents and police raiding my estate, creating chaos so they could finish what they started eight years ago."
I signaled to Marcus, who stood by the door. Marcus drew his silenced firearm and leveled it directly at the back of Paulie's head.
Paulie froze, his cigar hovering inches from his mouth. "Andrew... what is this? You think I had something to do with this? I’ve been loyal to you for twenty years!"
"You were loyal to the money, Paulie," I said softly, opening a thick leather folder on the table. "When Julian was alive, he was preparing to audit the district accounts. He found out you were skimming offshore funds from the dock shipments—funds meant for the Marcone peace settlement. If Julian had brought that to me, I would have put a bullet in your head eight years ago."
Paulie's face went red, then pale. "That's crazy! You have no proof!"
"I didn't," I admitted. "Until two hours ago. My tech crew tracked the digital signature of the printer used to make the child services envelope. It was purchased using a dummy credit card linked to a shell company in Panama. A company that pays out monthly dividends to an account owned by your sister."
Paulie’s posture shattered. The facade of the loyal advisor collapsed, leaving behind a desperate, cornered rat. He reached frantically for his jacket pocket, but before he could even touch his holster, Marcus stepped forward and struck him across the face with the heavy butt of his pistol.
Paulie crashed onto the glass table, groaning as blood welled from his nose.
"Where is he, Paulie?" I asked, standing up and walking slowly to his side. I placed my heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing until the bone creaked beneath his suit. "Where is my brother?"
"He's... he's in a warehouse at the old railyard," Paulie gasped out, choking on his own blood. "I couldn't kill him, Andrew! I swear! When my men found him three months ago tracking down the old financial files, I couldn't do it myself. I locked him up... I was trying to figure out how to frame him or get rid of him without you finding out!"
"You kept my brother in a cage for three months," I whispered, the sheer intensity of my voice causing the other men at the table to shudder.
"Please, Andrew!" Paulie begged, rolling onto his back, looking up at me with terror-filled eyes. "We were brothers once! You and me! Don't do this!"
"Julian was my brother," I said. "You were just an employee who forgot his place."
May you like
I turned my back on him and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Milwaukee.
"Marcus," I said quietly. "Clean up the room. Then prepare the assault team. We're going to get my family."
