Chapter 5 - Council of Wolves
The clock struck midnight when my car arrived outside the Calder Club on 5th Avenue.
The rain had turned into a sleet that coated the black marble facade in a sheen of ice. Inside the private mahogany boardroom on the top floor, twelve men sat around an antique table that had once belonged to a railroad baron. These were the capos—the men who managed the ports, the unions, the casinos, and the distribution networks.
At the head of the table sat Silvio Calder, my father’s younger brother. A man with slicked-back gray hair, gold rings on every finger, and a serpent’s smile. To his right sat Marcus Vance—a guest who had no right to be in this room unless treason was already underway.
The heavy double doors swung open, and I stepped into the room alone. I had removed my tie, unbuttoned my collar, and left my overcoat in the hall. My Kimber rested conspicuously in its leather holster against my ribs.
"Gabriel," Silvio said, spreading his hands in a theatrical gesture of welcome. "We were worried you wouldn't make it. Rumor has it there was some excitement in the East District tonight."
"A minor pest problem," I said, walking to the empty chair at the foot of the table. I didn't sit down. I rested my palms on the polished wood and looked directly at Marcus Vance.
Marcus was a broad, weathered man with cold blue eyes and a scar slicing through his left eyebrow. He smelled of expensive cigars and old violence.
"Marcus," I acknowledged softly. "I didn't realize the Vance family was invited to Calder family funerals."
"When twenty-five thousand dollars a month vanishes from a joint logistics account for five years, it becomes my business, nephew," Silvio interjected smoothly. "We looked through Vincent’s private books after the burial. He was skimming. Siphoning family funds into a ghost charity. Marcus brought it to our attention."
"Did he?" I asked, shifting my gaze back to my uncle.
"We want to know where the money went, Gabriel," Marcus Vance said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "And more importantly, we want to know why a squad of my contractors reported encountering the Calder heir at an orphanage two hours ago."
The silence in the room became absolute. The ten other capos shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their hands drifting toward their jackets. They knew what was hanging in the balance. Vincent Calder had ruled with an iron fist; with him gone, the wolves were ready to tear the territory apart.
"Your contractors are dead, Marcus," I said calmly.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed into slits. "You overstep, boy. Your father kept the peace between us because he understood limits. You have no allies here. Silvio agrees that the East District belongs to the Vances now."
"Silvio can give you whatever he owns," I replied, taking a slow step around the table. "Which, as of two minutes ago, is precisely nothing."
Silvio laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "You think you command this room, Gabriel? You think because Vincent gave you his signet ring, these men will follow a thirty-year-old convict into a war with the Vances?"
"They don't have to follow me," I said, reaching into my pocket and tossing a heavy black flash drive onto the center of the table. It slid across the mahogany, stopping right in front of Silvio.
"What is this?" Silvio sneered.
"That is the complete audit of your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, Silvio. Along with thirty-two wire transfers showing you took kickbacks from Marcus to compromise our shipping manifests in Newark." I paused, looking around the table at the ten silent capos. "He sold out your cuts. For three years, while I was doing time in Lewisburg, my uncle was giving Marcus twenty percent of your profits."
The temperature in the room plummeted. The capos turned their heads toward Silvio, their expressions hardening into stone.
"That's a lie!" Silvio shouted, slamming his palm on the table, his face flushing scarlet. "He’s bluffing! Kill him!"
Nobody moved.
Not a single capo drew a weapon. They looked at the flash drive, then at Silvio, and finally at me. They knew Vincent Calder’s son. They knew I never made an accusation I couldn't prove with blood.
"Marcus," I said, turning my back on my uncle to face the man who had hunted my daughter’s mother. "You have two hours to get your men out of the East District. If I see a single Vance operative south of 14th Street after 2:00 AM, I won't just kill your soldiers. I will come to your house in Greenwich, and I will burn everything you love to the ground."
Marcus slowly rose from his chair, towering over the table. "You're starting a war over a ghost, Gabriel. You think you can keep her safe? Vincent couldn't even keep Claire alive."
The mention of her name in this room was a death sentence.
In a fraction of a second, before Marcus’s hand could clear his lapel, my Kimber was out. I fired one round.
The bullet struck the heavy silver lighter in Marcus’s breast pocket, shattering it and driving the brass fragments deep into his pectoral muscle. The force threw him backward against the wall, gasping in agony as blood seeped through his bespoke suit.
The capos stood up in unison, hands raised away from their weapons, establishing their neutrality.
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"Get him out of my sight," I ordered, gesturing to Marcus’s two pale-faced bodyguards who stood trembling by the door. "And Silvio... stay in that chair."
***
