Chapter 6 - The Viper in the Ranks
Two months after the attack on Red Rocks, the physical world began to reshape itself around me.
The Alvarez cartel was gone, its remaining assets absorbed into my network. But a far more dangerous threat was brewing inside my own organization.
While I had spent those two months focused almost exclusively on my rehabilitation—now able to stand with the aid of heavy steel leg braces and a cane—certain members of my inner circle felt left behind.
Mainly, Silas Mercer.
Silas had built his power base while I was paralyzed, managing the street level operations that required physical presence. Now that I was regaining my strength, my mobility, and my total control over the syndicate, Silas saw his own empire shrinking.
It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon when Nathan and Emily were working with me in the gym.
I was standing between the parallel bars, wearing my leg braces. I took three agonizing, slow steps forward.
Left. Right. Left.
Sweat poured off my face, but I didn't fall.
Emily walked beside me, holding a small wooden staff, watching my alignment with the intensity of a master builder inspecting a skyscraper foundation.
"Good," Emily said softly. "Your weight is equal now. You aren't leaning on your left hip anymore."
"I can feel the heel, Emily," I panted, grinning through the pain. "I can feel the floor under my heel."
Suddenly, the gym door opened, and Silas Mercer walked in.
He wasn't alone. He brought four of his personal enforcers—men I hadn't authorized to enter my private residence.
Silas stopped ten feet away, his arms folded across his chest, a dark, cynical smile on his face.
"Look at you," Silas sneered, his voice laced with venom. "The great Julian Moretti, playing circus tricks with a janitor's brat while the port authorities are seizing two hundred million dollars worth of our cargo downtown."
I slowly brought my feet together, turning to face him while holding onto the parallel bars for support.
"The port authorities are acting on a tip, Silas," I said calmly. "A tip that came from someone inside our own leadership. Someone who wanted to create a crisis so they could demand a vote of no confidence."
Silas’s smile faded slightly. "You're paranoid, Julian. You've been locked in this house too long, losing your mind over this superstitious kid."
He pointed a finger at Emily.
"She’s a distraction," Silas spat. "The street thinks you've gone soft. They think you're letting a peasant child run the syndicate. It ends today."
Silas reached into his coat.
Before his hand could clear his holster, Garrett Boone stepped out from behind the heavy velvet curtain near the wall, a heavy double-barreled shotgun pressed directly against the back of Silas’s neck.
"Move an inch, Silas," Garrett whispered coldly, "and I'll paint this wall with your brain."
The four enforcers Silas had brought instantly raised their weapons, but six of my personal bodyguards emerged from the upper balcony, their automatic rifles aimed down at Silas’s men.
Silas froze, his eyes darting frantically around the room.
"You thought I was blind, Silas?" I asked, stepping out from between the parallel bars.
I took one step toward him without holding onto the bars, leaning heavily on my cane.
Then I took a second step.
Silas’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that the man he thought was a helpless cripple was walking toward him under his own power.
"You sold the port coordinates to the federal prosecutors, Silas," I revealed, stopping three feet from him. "You wanted me arrested so you could take the chair. But you forgot one simple rule."
May you like
I reached out, grabbed Silas by his silk lapels, and dragged his face down until his eyes were inches from mine.
"I built this chair," I whispered. "And I am the only one who gets to sit in it."
