Chapter 19 - The Road Not Traveled
Six months later, the city of New York felt different. The neon lights still buzzed across Times Square, and the black-limousine wealth of Wall Street still moved through the canyons of lower Manhattan, but the rot beneath the foundation had finally been dragged out into the harsh, disinfecting sunlight.
I stood on the porch of a modest, weather-beaten wooden cabin nestled in the Catskill Mountains, watching the morning mist roll over the dense pine forests. No guards. No gates. No hidden tunnels or secret accounts. Just the quiet sound of the wind moving through the trees and the steady, honest rhythm of physical work.
My phone buzzed on the wooden porch railing. I picked it up.
A single text message from an unknown number: “The dusting is finished here. Heading west. Take care of yourself, Mateo.”
May you like
I stared at the screen for a long moment, a slow, quiet smile touching my lips. I didn't reply. I didn't need to.
Some debts can never be paid back in full, and some ghosts are meant to walk beside you until the road finally opens up ahead.
