“It is a waste to see you leave the docks,” he added.

“I am not leaving the docks,” I said, looking him dead in the eye.

“I am just working for myself from now on,” I said.

Victor smiled slightly, a cold expression that didn’t reach his eyes, and signed his name at the bottom of the page.

He handed the completed document back to me, the ink still wet under the warehouse lights.

I blew on the paper to dry it, then slid it back into the protective plastic lining of my coat.

The weight of the paper against my chest felt heavier than any stone, but it was a good weight.

“What about the father?” Declan asked, gesturing toward the back exit.

“He belongs to the city now,” Roman said, not looking back.

“He will spend the rest of his days answering for the missing cargo in the state penitentiary,” Roman added.

“Or worse, if he tries to run,” Declan muttered.

I did not ask what they meant by that, and I did not care to know.