Nothing entered this room without my men’s approval. Weapons were confiscated. Phones were prohibited. The only recording within these walls was done by us. No bug would pass our security. Our internet journeyed through layers of firewalls, bounced off multiple virtual networks, and was more classified than the federal government’s, according to the government hackers on my payroll.
Some would say that I was paranoid.
That wasn’t true.
By definition paranoid would mean that I had an irrational distrust of others.
My distrust wasn’t irrational.
During my research of my forebears’ journals, I was enlightened by the gift of time. I was in the future, knowing how each battle had ended and where mistakes were made. The world in which I ruled was one where my power came from overthrowing the one man who trusted me.
I wouldn’t make that same mistake.
My distrust was rational.
A buzzer sounded.
The machinery could be likened to the antiquated equipment seen inMad Men. The old relic was from before I was born, and I supposed I held a bit of sentiment for it. A quick tap of my keyboard brought my computer screen to life, adding modern-day surveillance to buzzers of old. I had the perfect view of the man waiting to enter and thermal imaging verified he was alone.
Pressing the button, I allowed the door to open.
Leon Trahan was what some would call a jack-of-all-trades; the man excelled in all he did. His long familial history in New Orleans and beyond gave him connections that weren’t easy for outsiders to cultivate. His Creole heritage went back to before Louisiana was a state.
Leon and I met long before I was ready to take control of what was now mine. He was fifteen years my senior. Nevertheless, he helped me.
I helped him.
We found that together we could reach different people, achieve different goals, and that partnership made both of us incredibly wealthy. Leon also had connections—family in the world of criminal justice. It was a valuable resource for men such as us who worked the other side of the law. Leon had a brother within the New Orleans Police Department, a cousin who was a federal judge, and an uncle in a branch of the federal bureau that was hidden to most of the world.
If there was something to learn, Leon was the man.
If there was a plan that needed validation, Leon was my go-to.
“How is Noah?” I asked as Leon entered and the door behind him closed.
Small lines furrowed his brow, highlighted by his ebony skin tone. “He’s busy. There was a problem at the tavern on Royal.”
“I didn’t hear about it.”
“Nothing to hear. Noah took care of it. And in the process, he reminded a few of your tenants that late payments aren’t acceptable.”
“That shit never ends,” I said, leaning back.
“No, boss, that revenue is too big to let it end.” Leon grinned. “Best part is that there are people lined up to get prime property. If one tenant can’t pay, we have ten to replace him.”
As usual, Leon was right.
“Tell me,” I said, “what you’ve learned about Underwood.”
Leon’s head shook. “There ain’t no reason for him to kill himself. We’ve got a team going through the hotel security. Thing was, Underwood left the restaurant with his pocket full of cash as you instructed not long after Miss North accompanied you to Broussard’s. We had a tail on him to see where he’d go with all that dough.” Leon’s lips made a straight line. “He ended up at Lafitte’s.”
Exhaling, I ran my hand down my face. “Fucking tourist.”
Leon nodded. “Yeah, and he met a pretty little ginger there.”
Ginger was Leon’s term for a redhead.
“Working girl?”