On the second floor of an aging building, Troy sat in a candlelit office above the grain exchange. He had summoned a few of his foremen for what he called a "loyalty check."
"Someone's picking off my people," Troy said. His voice was flat, yet the weight behind it left no room for doubt. "And they're not doing it with guns. They're doing it with promises."
Raoul, his right-hand man, shifted uneasily in his chair. "You think it's the Suarez crew?"
"Yes. There's no other group bold enough to challenge me," Troy replied without hesitation. His gaze was steady, his tone absolute. "And I know who's helping them."
He did not say Terry's name, but everyone in the room felt it hang there, unspoken and heavy.
Troy leaned forward and tapped the map stretched across his desk, his finger pressing hard against the docks. "We lock this down. Every shipment gets double security. We pay on time. And anyone who so much as whispers Carlos's name is finished. Out."
