“He lost the shipments at the northern rail yard,” Arthur continued. “Two million dollars in dry goods, confiscated by federal agents because he forgot to pay the yard master’s cousin.”

I didn’t answer.

I knew exactly which yard master he meant, and I knew exactly how much the cousin required to keep his eyes shut.

I had kept that cousin on a strict monthly schedule for four years.

“And Maroni,” Arthur said, turning back to face me. “Julian Maroni is moving his trucks through the western corridor now. He thinks I’m weak.”

“Are you?” I asked.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The arrogance that had defined his entire life flared behind his pupils.

“No,” he said. “But I am short-handed.”

He walked over to the small sofa and sat down, draping his arms over the backrest as if he owned the cabin.

“You left a mess, Clara,” he said. “The filing systems are gone. The contacts won’t speak to anyone but you. The ledger we keep for the port authority is locked in a digital safe that Gregory tried to open with a crowbar.”