Chapter 21 : The Broker's Absence
Terry was waiting when I reached the warehouse.
That was the first warning sign. Terry didn't wait. Terry met you on his terms, in his time, with information already processed and prioritized. Waiting meant something was wrong.
"Boss." His expression was carefully neutral. "We need to talk."
"What happened?"
He led me to the office, closed the door. The morning light through the grimy windows painted everything gray.
"While you were away, a crew pushed into our eastern edge. Six guys, calling themselves the East Block Boys." Terry's jaw tightened. "They roughed up Mr. Karim. The dry cleaner."
"My territory. My people. Hurt while I was gone."
"How bad?"
"Black eye, split lip. They wanted protection money. When he said he already paid you, they laughed and took his register anyway."
The anger was cold, controlled. Not the wild heat of my early days—something sharper now. More dangerous.
"What else?"
Terry hesitated. That was the second warning sign.
"One of the new recruits. The kid we brought in after the Marco thing." His voice dropped. "He took money to look the other way."
"Corruption. In my operation. In my house."
"Where is he now?"
"Downstairs. Julio's watching him."
I thought about the first time I'd established my code—no women, no kids, violations mean death. This wasn't that, but it was a betrayal. A rot that would spread if not cut out immediately.
"Bring him up. Then get everyone together. Anyone who's in the building."
The recruit's name was Danny. Ironic, given the body I wore. He was twenty, scared, trying to look tough and failing.
I didn't shout. I didn't threaten. I spoke quietly, which was somehow worse.
"You took money to let our people get hurt."
"I—it was just—they said they'd—"
"I don't care what they said." I stood close enough to see the sweat on his forehead. "I care what you did. You chose money over the people who trusted us. Who trusted you."
The room was silent. Ten people watching—Terry, Julio, Big Pat, Marcus, the others. Learning.
"Get out of my territory. If I see you again, we'll have a different conversation."
Danny's face went white. "Please, I can explain—"
"Out."
Big Pat stepped forward. Danny stumbled toward the door, nearly falling over himself in his haste to leave.
When he was gone, I addressed the rest.
"That's how it works. You want to steal on your own time, that's your business. You want to take bribes that get our people hurt? That's my business." I met each pair of eyes in turn. "We protect what's ours. Anyone who can't commit to that doesn't belong here."
Silence. Then nods. The message received.
The East Block Boys were a different problem.
Their leader, Carlos, operated out of an abandoned laundromat three blocks from my eastern border. Six men, trying to establish themselves in a vacuum they thought existed.
I could have sent Big Pat and a few others. Could have made it violent, bloody, final.
Instead, I went myself. With Terry. Unarmed—ostensibly.
Carlos was maybe thirty, Latino, tattoos crawling up his neck. He watched us approach with the wariness of a man who'd expected trouble and was surprised it came knocking.
"You're the Broker."
"I am."
"Heard you were out of town. Thought maybe you weren't coming back."
"I'm back."
We stood in the dusty laundromat, surrounded by broken washing machines and the smell of old detergent. Carlos's five remaining men hovered in the background, trying to look threatening.
"Here's how this works," I said. "You pushed into my territory. Hurt one of my people. Normally, that would end badly for you."
Carlos's hand drifted toward his waistband.
"But." I held up a finger. "I'm in an expansive mood. And I understand ambition. So I'm offering you a choice."
"What kind of choice?"
"Join my operation. You run your crew under my rules, answer to my people, share information up the chain. In exchange, you get protection, access to my network, and a future that doesn't end in a shallow grave."
Carlos was quiet for a long moment. Calculating.
"And if I say no?"
"Then you leave. Tonight. And you don't come back."
"Just leave? No consequences?"
"Leaving is the consequence. You walk away from everything you built here, start over somewhere else." I kept my voice level. "I'm being generous because I respect ambition. Don't mistake generosity for weakness."
The silence stretched. Carlos looked at his men. Looked at Terry. Looked at me.
"What are your rules?"
I told him. The code. No touching women who weren't in the game. No hurting kids. Protection money meant actual protection. Violations answered to me personally.
Carlos listened. When I finished, he nodded slowly.
"My old crew didn't have rules like that. Just... take what you want, hurt who you need to."
"How did that work out for them?"
A bitter laugh. "Most of them are dead or in prison."
"There's your answer."
He extended his hand. I shook it.
[NETWORK: +4]
[CREW EXPANSION: 6 members added]
[FEAR INDEX: +50]
That evening, Mrs. Chen visited the warehouse.
She brought soup—homemade, the real kind that took hours. We sat in my office while I ate, her watching with the particular satisfaction of someone who knows their cooking is appreciated.
"You were gone a long time," she said eventually.
"Outside business."
"Mm." She didn't press. "While you were away, people talked. Some said the Broker had abandoned them. Others said you were dead."
"I'm not dead."
"Obviously." She sipped tea from a cup she'd brought herself. "But you can't be everywhere at once. You need people you trust. Structure."
"She's right. I've been building this like a one-man show. That doesn't scale."
"Mrs. Chen, when did you become my advisor?"
"The moment you chose to protect people instead of just taking from them." She stood, gathered her things. "Think about what I said. You're building something good. Don't let it collapse because you couldn't delegate."
She left.
I sat in the empty office, her words echoing.
"Structure. Chain of command. People I trust to make decisions when I'm not there."
I pulled out a notepad and started sketching. Terry as underboss—already was, effectively. Julio handling finances. Big Pat for enforcement. Carlos for the new eastern section.
It looked absurd on paper. Crime boss with an organizational chart.
But it was necessary.
I worked until midnight, refining the structure. Who reported to whom. What decisions could be made without my approval. What absolutely required it.
When I finally stopped, the flowchart covered three pages. It was bureaucracy applied to crime, and it was exactly what I needed.
"Tomorrow, I make it official. Tonight..."
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I answered. "Hello?"
"Miss me?" Selina's voice, low and amused.
Something in my chest responded. "Maybe. A little."
"Flatterer." A pause. "I have a business proposition. Something that might interest you. Your territory, my expertise."
"I'm listening."
"Not over the phone. Meet me tomorrow. Monarch Theatre. Noon."
"Noon? That's unusually civilized."
"I thought we'd try something different." Her smile was audible. "Goodnight, Broker."
She hung up.
I stared at the phone, then at the organizational chart, then at the city lights beyond my window.
"Structure. Delegation. And Selina."
Gotham was strange. But it was starting to feel like home.
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