It was addressed to Mrs. Higgins at a post office box in Brooklyn.

The return address was a private office in Wall Street.

I untied the ribbon and slid the first letter from its envelope.

The handwriting was identical to the initials on my note.

*“My dear Clara,”* the letter began.

*“The progress is satisfactory, but we must accelerate the timeline.”*

*“Matteo’s grip on the shipping docks is tightening.”*

*“If the boy continues to show signs of improvement, the family will rally behind Matteo’s leadership.”*

*“He must be seen as unfit.”*

*“A man who cannot manage his own household, who cannot even keep his own son sane, cannot run the syndicate.”*

*“Ensure the boy remains docile.”*

*“The drops I sent you should be administered daily.”*

My eyes blurred as I read the words.

They were systematically destroying a child’s mind to stage a coup.

I picked up the next letter in the stack.

This one was dated three months ago.

*“The doctors are asking too many questions,”* Silvio had written.

*“I have paid off the specialist from uptown to diagnose the boy with a degenerative neurological condition.”*