Finally, Jack drew his hand away from the holster. Not because he’d changed his mind—but because he knew, with the terrible clarity of a man who had seen too much, that his son was right about one thing.
“You should go,” Jack said quietly.
Jack felt the floor tilt. “You didn't. Tell me you didn't.” jack carlton reed pablo escobar
Pablo Escobar had been sloppy.
The rain hammered harder. Jack’s hand drifted toward the holster under his jacket—old habit. “You’re selling poison to kids.” Finally, Jack drew his hand away from the holster
“I didn't wake it,” Carlton said softly. “I bought it. Three billion dollars in dormant claims. Every route, every safe house, every politician who still remembers how to look the other way. It’s not a cartel anymore, Dad. It’s a logistics company.” Jack felt the floor tilt
His own son.