Chapter 7 - THE SILENT SYNDICATE
The heavy silence inside the boardroom felt heavier than the concrete overhead. Sixty of the city’s most ruthless crime lords sat frozen in their seats, staring at the corpse of the man who had promised them total control of the docks just ten minutes prior.
Dominic slowly lowered his pistol, turning his cold, piercing gaze toward the syndicate bosses. The bullet wound in his side throbbed fiercely, but he didn't let a single muscle in his face betray the pain.
"The meeting is adjourned," Dominic said, his voice cutting through the smoke like a razor.
"And the territory, Shaw?" an elderly capo near the back asked cautiously, his hands flat on the table, palms up. "What happens to the shipping lines now?"
"The shipping lines belong to the person who actually kept the books straight," Dominic replied, gesturing toward Maren.
Maren stepped forward, releasing the detonator switch—though she didn't take off the vest—and tossed a thick, leather-bound ledger onto the center of the splintered table. It landed with a heavy thud, right beside Ronan’s bloodstained whiskey glass.
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"Every transaction, every kickback, every hidden account Ronan used to buy you off is right there," Maren said, her voice clear and carrying across the massive room. "You have twenty-four hours to step down, hand over your ports, and leave this city. If you're still here when the sun comes up tomorrow, I won't need the C4. I'll just hand this book to the federal prosecutors."
The kingpins looked at the ledger, then at the scarred dog standing guard by the door, and finally at the scarred old boss who had just reclaimed his throne from the dead. One by one, men who controlled billions in illegal contraband stood up from their chairs, pushed them back, and walked silently out of the room without uttering a single word.
