Chapter 7 - SHADOWS IN THE REARVIEW MIRRORThe sun finally broke through the heavy coastal clouds by late afternoon, casting a golden, blinding glare across the manicured lawns of the Concincaid estate.
Inside the grand study, the heavy velvet curtains had been pulled wide open, flooding the room with light for the first time in a decade.
Garrett stood by the window, looking out over the iron gates where police cruisers were hauling away the last of Conrad’s co-conspirators. His shoulders felt lighter, though the scars—both physical and mental—would remain forever.
Seated on the large leather armchair was Jonah.
The boy wasn't clutching his tattered teddy bear anymore. It lay discarded on the coffee table, its missing button eye no longer looking down in despair. Jonah sat on his father’s lap, his small arms wrapped tightly around Garrett’s neck, burying his face into his shoulder.
He hadn't stopped talking since they reunited that morning. A steady stream of small, quiet questions about where his father had been, what he had eaten, and whether Brutus could come inside the main house now.
And Brutus was indeed inside—lying sprawled across the Persian rug in front of the stone fireplace, its torn paws bandaged by a private vet, snoring softly in total peace.
Jasper stood by the mahogany desk, pouring two glasses of amber whiskey. He handed one to Garrett, then raised his own in a silent toast.
"To ghosts who refuse to stay buried," Jasper said quietly.
Garrett clinked his glass against Jasper's, a genuine, weary smile touching his lips. "And to brothers who know how to dig them out."
They drank in silence, the weight of the past ten years finally lifting from the foundation of the house. The blood on the walls had been washed away. The trap had been sprung.
But as Jasper looked out the window toward the iron gates, a subtle shadow crossed his eyes. Empires weren't built on clean hands, and the underworld of the West Coast was already sending encrypted messages to his encrypted phone. Conrad Vance was just a lieutenant in a much larger, global syndicate that had its hooks deep into international shipping.
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The war for the Concincaid name was over.
But the war for the underworld was just beginning.
