Chapter 5 Ridge #2
“No one. That’s the point,” Vin replies. “And if we don’t clear it, the terminals slow things down and start protecting themselves.”
“Can we bail him out or something?” I ask, weighing the options quickly. I need a solution, not more problems.
“Risky,” Vin admits. “He’s already on his last strike. Even if our attorneys can get him out, he won’t be back in time for tonight’s dock processes. If we want this quiet, we’re going to have to manage it another way.”
I grip the wheel tighter. There’s no room for mistakes, not now. The weight of all of it presses down on me, but this is what it means to step into his shoes.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, the decision solidifying as I speak. “I’ll go in, oversee the clearances if I have to, and make sure everyone gets in and out as planned. We have to have more than one person we can rely on, though, regardless. That’s nonnegotiable.”
Vin hesitates. “You’ve already got enough on your hands. Want me to take the lead?”
I clench my jaw but keep my voice even. “I’m not about to let anything slip just because he’s gone, Vin. I said I’ve got this. We hold these shipping logs together by making sure we’re as tight as ever.”
“Right.”
“Call Keller and see if he can meet us at the dock office, too. He knows the dockside players and the rhythms down there.”
“Understood,” he says, and I note a sigh of relief. Or, maybe it’s frustration. “I’ll get the safeword today. Everything will be ready on this end.”
“Good.”
“Let's meet when you roll in and go through everything. I’ll message Keller now to see if he can join us. What’s your ETA?”
I look at the clock on the dash. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“I’ll wrap up what I’m doing and see you."
The line clicks off, and I press down on the gas. My focus is razor-sharp as the adrenaline courses through my veins.
This is more than just showing up and ensuring things happen as they should. It’s proof that my father’s death won’t change anything about who controls these shipping lanes and where the buck stops.
The screen lights up with a new message from Vin as I push the Aston further down the long stretch of the low highway. The early morning fog clings to the highway.
Keller will be there.
Keller. Good. He’s got the demeanor and the familiarity with the docks to step in. His gambling tables are bringing in the money, but he mostly keeps his hands clean. With Dad gone, he may have to take on a few more responsibilities.
I grab my beard and hold it while I consider all the moving parts.
A few exits later, I pull into the Port of New Orleans, our city’s biggest and oldest dock. We keep an office on the East end, one my father has had since before I was born. Now it’s about to be the place where I step up and prove I can hold it together.
The twenty-minute drive felt longer than it should have. The fog followed me here, hanging low along the river. Through the haze, Algiers Point, my home I haven’t been to in days, is barely visible across the water.
Vin and Keller are waiting near the warehouse door. Vin, as steady as ever, gives me a nod, while Keller straightens. His arms crossed in his perfectly tailored suit, displaying his curated mix of calm and quiet intensity.
Keller’s always been a bit of an enigma. At twenty-eight, he is wise beyond his years. He loves to look the part. But he is more than an image in a custom suit. He has built the gambling part of our business up to be quite formidable.
The Stone tables are the most sought-after private games on the Mississippi circuit, drawing in some of the biggest players in the world.
He’s the one who keeps contacts straight and finds the seam in a problem before anyone else sees it. My father taught him to spot trouble early, while it still looks like noise.
“Glad the three of us could meet on short notice,” Vin says in a clipped but calm tone. "Shall we go inside to discuss? Rocco isn’t here yet. We can chat before he arrives.”
Keller looks at me. His expression is thoughtful, and I can see he’s thinking through the scenarios.
“Brother,” he says in greeting. Confidence and bravado seep from him. “You ready to dive into this mess? I told you I can take a bigger role in the docks.”
“I was born ready,” I say, glancing between them. “In due time, though. Let’s get a handle on everything. What do we know about these guys?”
Vin speaks up first. “Alright, first problem’s still our guy sitting in county. We’re short the only set of hands who know the verification for tonight’s handoff at the docks. If he’s out of play, we’re fucked. But I’ve got an idea. I think I can get in on short notice to talk to him.”
Keller’s confidence wavers slightly. “Without him, it’s going to be tough. He’s the only one who knows the damn codes.”
I glance between them, already piecing together a plan. “We’ll cover it. Vin, see what strings you can pull to get in to see him. If that’s a no-go, I’ll have the attorney make an official attorney-client meeting. One way or another, we’re getting what we need from him before tonight.”
Vin hesitates. “And if we can’t get in?”
My voice is steady and commanding. “Then I talk to the people involved myself. They’ll understand it’s still business as usual. If they don’t, they’ll adjust.”
“Perfect,” Vin says.
I nod, with that settled. “What’s the second problem?”
Vin’s expression darkens. “Tripp. We’re starting to see signs that he might be operating outside authorized channels. Wells’s been tracking him and noticed he’s been making contact with people outside our circle, including,” he pauses and looks around. “I think he’s been talking to Duvall.”
I let the name sink in. Tripp LaSalle. He’s an external relations and terminal coordination manager, operating embedded in cross-terminal coordination and third-party access oversight.
My father always trusted him for some reason, but I always wondered if he was the kind of guy who just told you what you wanted to hear.
He’d always seemed too eager, too restless. Now he’s thinking he can outsmart us. It’s almost laughable.
I grit my teeth at the name. “The Duvalls. He knows better than to mess with them. How solid is the intel?”
Keller steps in, his voice smooth but serious.
“Solid enough. Wells said he’s seen him meeting with one of the Duvalls’ associates on more than one occasion. He’s been careful, but not careful enough. He thinks no one’s watching him, which means he’s either arrogant or stupid.” He pauses, his eyes locking with mine. “Or both.”
I take a slow breath as I consider what this could mean. Two fires to put out, both with stakes that are too damn high. Tripp's betrayal needs to be handled, but the dock’s exchange can’t wait.
First things first.
“We’ll split this,” I say, the decision coming quickly, decisively. “Vin, you’re on it with Luc.”
Vin nods, already pulling out his phone, his expression hard.
“Keller,” I say, turning to him. “Quietly audit Tripp’s access footprint.
Let him think we aren’t digging into him, but if his dock patterns change again, pull him from rotation and secure him off-site.
I want to know everyone he’s been in contact with, every call, every meeting.
We’re not moving on him yet, but if he takes a shit, I want it documented. ”
Keller nods, that scheming glint in his eyes sharpening. “Consider it handled. He won’t take a step without us knowing, between Wells and me.”
Keller might not have been our father's go-to for the day-to-day operations, but he was already watching, tracking the movements of everyone in our orbit. He knows Tripp’s contacts, his habits, and his weaknesses.
If anyone can make sure we know Tripp’s movements offline, it’s Keller.
He’s been three steps ahead of guys like him for years.
“We’re not losing ground on this. We’ve got a plan for tonight and for Tripp. We limit exposure until verification clears.”
They both nod, and as Rocco’s truck pulls into the lot, the weight settles heavy but certain on my shoulders.
I watch Vin and Keller walk off, their footsteps fading into the fog rolling in from the water. Once they’re gone, only the low rumble of the diesel engine fills the space, thick and insistent.
I take a breath and let it out slowly. My father’s death. Tripp’s possible betrayal. The shipment tonight. None of it is going to wait.
Rocco stays in his truck, phone to his ear, so I head for my car and slide into the driver’s seat. The leather is warm against my back, a stark contrast to the cold tension still sitting in my chest.
My hand goes to the ignition, but before I press the button to start the engine, my mind slips to her. Coco. There’s something about her that keeps her on the edge of my thoughts, even with everything else going on.
I pull out my phone and dial Gabe.
He answers on the first ring. “Yeah, boss.”
“Status?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Everything’s fine,” he says. “She’s locked in her room. Last I checked, about six minutes ago, she was sitting on the bed playing solitaire.”
“Good.”
“I brought her some cheese crackers when she asked. She’s quiet for the most part. Doesn’t talk unless being talked to.”
“That’s what I want to hear,” I say, maybe a bit too quickly. I clear my throat. “I’m going to be a little longer than I had planned. You good?”
“Not a problem,” Gabe replies without hesitation. He’s got it under control. Still, something keeps me on the line for an extra second, listening to the quiet before I finally hang up.
I can’t help but wonder why my mind keeps wandering back to the cabin. She’s fine, and I’m needed here.