Page 10 of Forbidden Eyes
“Ah, yes. The thing.”
Neither of us have any idea what we're talking about, but Nate is as interested in getting his nephew back on track as his brother. He points at the small desk in the corner and nods at Logan.
“All allied accounts need restructuring. Dating back two years. See if you can organise the coding more efficiently than I have,” he says, skulking back behind his screens again.
Logan huffs and goes to sit, mumbling under his breath about the shit he shouldn't have to do. We all have to do it. Every bit of it. I did it before him, and his kids will do it after us. It's how it works in this business. Track it. Acquire it. Own it. Enforce it.
And, if necessary, hide it.
“Carter?” I look back towards Nate, unable to see him.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve spoken to Quinn about Miami?”
“Yeah.”
“On track?”
“Sure. I’ll leave tomorrow. It’ll run fine.” My eyes shift to Logan, watching as he tries to listen to every damn word we say. I’m not sure why he’s not allowed in on it in all honesty. It’s something Cane still does if it has to, certainly to placate Vico. He should know. Maybe he could do it then. “There are no problems, Nate. I’m on it.”
He waves his hand at me, dismissing me, and I leave. I've got at least four hours of peace now. Enough time to get on with my own tasks for the day. Tomorrow is a different story. As is this afternoon when Logan cracks whatever Nate assigned him, thinking he’d find it difficult. But for now, I'm free to do what I want, and that means turning over the raft of emails regarding the clubs and casinos. They’re my main priority around here. I run the face of Cane on the entertainment front, making sure the world knows that we are legitimate.
We’re not. Not entirely. And when things need doing, I do them in the way that’s necessary to achieve results, but mainly we’re a corporate powerhouse these days. A sharp one.
I walk back into my office and open my laptop, intent on getting work done so I can get Logan over to the east docks later. He needs to understand that place as much as the Regent, especially the old warehousing that Cane acquired and is turning into a hotel. It’s almost complete, a huge overhaul costing the company millions. Fuck knows how they got hold of the land two years ago in the first place. It was supposed to be housing. Instead, they’re building an entertainment venue to rival Navy Pier. No idea how they got planning permission for that either, but as always, Cane gets what Cane wants.
* * *
Logan tips his head around the door a couple of hours later.
“You’re done?” I ask, surprised that even he can manage Nate’s work that quick.
“Yes. What are we doing now?”
“Alright. We’ll head down to the docks then. I need to catch up on the site. It’ll only take a couple of hours.”
He files in behind me, and we head back through the building until we’re at the car again. He snubs it and bypasses me, bleeping the alarm on his Ferrari. My eyes roll, uninterested in his need to display his wealth. Fuck if I’m going in that. He can follow me if he has to wave his money around. In fact, I'll make my own way there and meet him in a while.
I open the door and slide in, starting the engine.
"Logan, I'll be there in half an hour. I've got something to do first," I call. He nods at me and slams his door, tyres screeching out the parking lot, leaving dust in his wake.
Half an hour should be enough.
I pull out, blinking in the sun as it filters in from the ramp to outside, and reach for the switchblade in the glove compartment. It's only a small thing I need to deal with, but disrespect leads to bigger things. They could end meaning money goes missing, or corners of Chicago get lost to gangs rather than respecting the hierarchy Cane has spent its life achieving. It's another thing I do that keeps me feared and talked about. I keep these streets thinking, worrying. That way, nothing gets taken for granted because of the flashy building Quinn and Nate now sit in. They might not fight corners like they used to, but if needed, I do.
Ten minutes later I pull into the Fuller Park area and stop, eyes searching for any other problems nearby. There isn't any that I can see, just the usual miscreants hanging around ready to dive on some chump who stupidly drives into the wrong part of town. I walk towards the back of Choltie’s lodge, my blood quietly pumping to get me ready. Thing is, these dicks dared cross the river, and that upset the border control I delegated for them for drug running in and out of Chicago. It might not be what we do anymore, but we still get a healthy cut for allowing it to happen on our turf. So, yeah, I'm pissed about the angst now riding the two cartels. Makes my life difficult.
I don't like difficult.
Four strides and I'm in the door, surging through the old, fucked-up whore house like I own it. Three guys come out to greet me in typical fashion, two of them with guns aimed right at me.
"Where's Arch?" I ask, keeping my cool and ignoring the guns.
"Carter?"
The man in question comes in from the right, his top half exposed, showing gangland tattoos in an attempt to prove his worth. He has little worth to me, and just about none when he's walking all over the city without respecting my rules.