Chapter 4 - The Shadows of South Boston
Working for Jack Whitmore meant living in two worlds simultaneously.
By day, I redesigned corporate press releases, managed philanthropic donations for children's hospitals, and sat in high-level meetings with city council members. By night, I learned the cold, unforgiving mechanics of the family I had joined.
Two weeks into my employment, my phone rang at 11:45 PM.
"Are you awake?" Jack asked without preamble.
"I am now," I muttered, sitting up in my bed.
"A car is outside your apartment. Bring a warm coat."
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a blacked-out armored sedan, gliding through the rain-slicked streets of South Boston toward the industrial docks. Beside me, Jack wore a long dark trench coat, his face partially shrouded in the shadows of the vehicle.
"Where are we going?" I asked, looking out the tinted window at the abandoned warehouses passing by.
"One of our warehouse facilities was raided by an independent crew an hour ago," Jack said calmly, as if discussing a slight delay in a marketing print run. "They stole three crates."
My heart did a nervous flip. "Illegal crates?"
"Legitimate pharmaceuticals," Jack corrected smoothly. "Insulin and life-saving antibiotics intended for community health clinics we sponsor in Dorchester. The crew that took them thinks they hijacked high-value contraband they can ransom back to me."
The car pulled up inside a vast, dimly lit warehouse near the water.
When we stepped out, four of Jack’s men were already standing in a circle around three tied-up men sitting on the wet concrete floor. One of the tied men had a bloody lip; the other two were trembling violently.
Jack walked over slowly, his leather shoes clicking against the hard ground. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply stood over them like a judge delivering an inevitable sentence.
"You took insulin meant for sick children," Jack said, his voice dropping into a register that sent shivers down my spine. "Because you thought Northbridge was too soft to hit back."
The lead thief looked up, spitting blood onto the floor. "Screw you, Whitmore! You're just a crook in an expensive suit!"
Jack looked at Marcus. "Call the District Attorney's office. Hand them the full surveillance footage of these three breaking into our facility, along with the GPS coordinates of their staging warehouse."
The lead thief blinked, utterly stunned. "What? You're calling the cops?"
"I don't need to break your knees to ruin you," Jack said coldly, looking down at the man with absolute disdain. "You'll serve twelve years in a federal penitentiary for grand larceny and pharmaceutical theft. And while you're inside, my lawyers will seize every asset your family owns to pay for the stolen property."
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Jack turned on his heel and walked back toward the car, looking at me over his shoulder.
"That's how we fight now, Emily," Jack murmured as I fell into step beside him. "We don't use lead when the law works faster."
