Chapter 8 - THE SHADOW OVER MONTREAL
Three days after the Battle of Frost Valley, the North Country was quiet once more.
The cartel network had been completely shattered, its corrupt leaders arrested in a series of coordinated federal raids triggered by the mountain of evidence Luca’s loyalists had handed over to law enforcement. The corrupt sheriff in Frost Valley had fled across the border, and the woods belonged once again to the wind, the spruce trees, and the deer.
In the quiet library of a private lodge near Saint-Jérôme, Quebec, Luca Falco stood before a grand arched window overlooking the frozen expanse of the St. Lawrence River.
He was wearing an expensive, tailored charcoal suit—his dark hair neatly trimmed, his jaw clean-shaven—looking every inch the sovereign ruler of the northern border. Yet his left arm rested in a black silk sling, and his dark eyes were fixed on the road leading south.
Behind him, sitting at a long mahogany table, were the four surviving senior captains of the Falco syndicate.
"The board is clear, Boss," Henri announced, setting a stack of legal documents on the table. "Julian's assets have been seized or liquidated. The cartel contracts are destroyed. The entire North Line logistics network is 100% under our control."
"Good," Luca said, his voice flat and unreadable.
"The captains are waiting for your command, Luca," another old lieutenant said, leaning forward. "We need you in Montreal to oversee the reorganization of the shipping ports."
Luca turned slowly to face them.
"I am not going to Montreal," Luca declared smoothly.
The room fell dead silent. The four captains exchanged bewildered, astonished looks.
"Boss?" Henri stammered. "You... you are the Falco. The empire is yours."
"The empire is a corpse, Henri," Luca said, stepping up to the mahogany table. "It was built on smuggling, violence, and fear. My uncle Carmine lived by the sword, and he died with a bullet in his back. Julian tried to turn it into a cartel drug ring, and he's going to rot in a federal penitentiary for the rest of his natural life."
Luca rested his right hand on the table, leaning forward.
"Effective midnight tonight," Luca announced, "the Falco syndicate ceases to exist as a criminal organization."
"What?!" one old captain gasped, standing up in outrage.
"We are converting all our trucking licenses, border permits, and warehouse leases into a fully legal, transparent international logistics firm—Falco Border Logistics," Luca said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Henri will serve as Chief Executive Officer. You four will hold twenty percent equity shares in the legal corporation. You will earn honest millions, pay your taxes, and live long enough to see your grandchildren grow up."
"And you, Luca?" Henri asked, his voice filled with deep awe and affection. "What will you do?"
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Luca reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and signed the final legal abdication documents transferring his empire to the new legal entity.
"I am going home," Luca said simply.
