Page 22 of Sinful King
“Understood.”
I handed the phone back and addressed Tadhg.
“Did you learn where Eef and Von are?”
He cleared his throat.
“Doing rounds a day early. They’ve been dealing with a few locations inventory not matching up to our cut of revenue.”
I hummed.
“Is my father privy?”
“He knows of the situation, yes.”
“Reschedule with Ashton and take me along the twins route today.”
He sighed and I had a feeling I’d be hearing it often.
“Take us into, Brooklyn,” he instructed Lorcan. “Three shops reported drops in revenue this year, but didn’t have the inventory to prove otherwise during a secret audit last month. The owners aren’t aware we know and the twins have orders to get answers.”
In Philly, our job was simple.
Oversee operations at the dock. Take in merchandise, mostly guns and random goods—break down and send them to their destination, while keeping a small portion to flood Philadelphia county with.
It was the same thing every day.
My brothers and I invested in other shit, like dispensaries and real estate. We even started a scholarship fund and offered off campus housing.
New York’s network was a different ball game, more intricate.
This was our hub—we could account for at least seventy-five percent of the guns being brought into and sold on the streets, illegal and legal.
The gun shops were one of our biggest money makers.
“When did it start?”
He chuckled and I tossed a side eyed glance his way.
“Sorry. You just remind me of your da and mine mixed in one. It started around the time our shipment tracking system was tampered with. They both believe these problems connect.”
I leaned my head back and let the pieces come together a little in my mind.
“What do you think could happen if a bunch of tiny problems began at once?”
“Chaos,” he answered slowly, twisting his wedding band again.
I gave him time to think.
“More than that,” he went on, not long after. “A bunch of tiny cracks moving simultaneously can bring down an entire organization much faster, if done right.”
He understood and wasn’t afraid to take his time responding.
My da had left tiny messes for me to clean up, knowing together they smelled like the makings of a territory war. We rolled to a stop in front of The Heights Rifle and Pistol Range in Brooklyn Heights.
“Keep it running,” I told Lorcan as we hopped out and entered the shop.
Aoife was up on the counter, legs crossed while filing her nails.
