Chapter 24 Ridge #2
“They took my father from me, Coco.” My voice hardens, not toward her, but at the memory. “They tortured him and left him to die like he was nothing. I couldn’t let that go. Not for him. Not for the company. Not for the thousands of people whose livelihoods depend on what we built staying intact.”
Her fingers curl slightly against my chest, but she doesn’t pull away. “You could’ve had someone else do it.”
“I know.” I stare at the ceiling, my jaw set. “But it wouldn’t have carried the same weight. When you’re in my position, you don’t get the luxury of ambiguity. That’s how this works.”
Her hand lifts to my face, her thumb brushing along my jaw. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
I turn my head to look at her, caught off guard by the gentleness in her voice. “I’m not.” The words come out firm. “I’d do it again if it meant keeping everyone safe. Keeping you safe.”
Her eyes shine with something I can’t name, but it tightens my chest all the same. “Ridge—”
I cut her off, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep,” I murmur. “We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.”
She nods and relaxes against me, her breathing evening out. The simulated lights overhead begin to brighten slightly, signaling morning’s approach. For now, though, it’s just us, wrapped in the quiet we carved out for ourselves.
The heavy doors creak as I push them open. Vin and Wells are already inside, seated at the long table scattered with documents and printed manifests.
Wells’s laptop hums faintly, the screen filled with spreadsheets and timelines. Both men look up when I enter. There’s a tension in the room that wasn’t here yesterday.
“Let’s start with Duvall,” I say, taking the seat at the head of the table. “I want to understand what’s left, and what exposure we still have.”
Vin leans back slightly, arms folded. “Their operation has effectively stalled. Alton and his son were the decision-makers, and now that they’ve disappeared, so too has business. Everything else was held together by personal relationships, not systems like we have in place.”
Wells nods. “Their Baton Rouge contracts are already destabilizing. Vendors are calling around, trying to figure out who still has the authority to sign off.”
“Any continuity?” I ask.
“Not really,” Wells says. “They were small with no redundancy or any real compliance structure. Once leadership disappeared, the rest unraveled fast.”
Vin taps the table once with a measured movement. “That gives us a choice. We can make ourselves available, or we can let the uncertainty run its course.”
“And the risk?” I ask.
“High, if we move too fast,” Vin says. “Anything tied to them is starting to draw attention. Regulators, insurers, port authorities—everyone’s asking questions.”
Wells nods. “There’s reputational risk by proximity. Their channels were sloppy. Even the legitimate contracts are tangled up with things we don’t want anywhere near our books.”
I lean back, thinking it through.
“So we watch,” I say finally. “We don’t touch anything that isn’t clean. If something shakes loose, whether it be equipment, a lease, or a contract that passes inspection, we only evaluate it and make a call on a case-by-case scenario. Otherwise, we let the situation resolve itself.”
“That’s the smart play,” Wells says, already typing notes. “Time and distance do the work for us.”
Vin gives a small nod. “And in the meantime, anyone trying to fill that vacuum will expose themselves.”
“Exactly,” I say. “We stay where we are. Stable. Predictable. Let everyone else panic.”
The decision settles into the room, quiet but firm.
“Now,” I say, shifting gears, “let’s talk about Tripp.”
Vin leans back, arms folding across his chest. Wells stills beside him, his attention sharpening.
“There’s been a development,” Vin says.
I hold his gaze. “Go on.”
“He’s dead.”
The words land. I don’t react. I lean back instead, fingers steepled beneath my chin.
“How?”
“I went to see him,” Vin says calmly. “He’d been isolated pending review. Restricted access, no phone, no systems. He was spiraling.”
That tracks.
“He was agitated,” Vin continues. “Said he didn’t want to be caught between us and the Duvalls. He kept pushing for assurances I couldn’t give him.”
“And?”
“I told him he was being removed permanently from operations until we verified scope. That there was no timeline. No return to rotation.”
Wells shifts slightly.
Vin doesn’t look at him. “That’s when he broke. Tried to bolt. Grabbed for me when I blocked him.”
I let the silence stretch.
“You’re telling me a man under monitoring decided to make a run for it?”
“He realized something,” Vin says evenly. “That this wasn’t a temporary hold. That whatever he touched was bigger than he thought. Panic does stupid things to people.”
Wells clears his throat. “The timing—”
Vin cuts him a look. Controlled. Not defensive.
“What matters,” Vin says, “is the exposure ended.”
I study his face. The story is tight. Too tight. But not impossible. Tripp had been circling danger without understanding it. When the door closed, he panicked.
Fear makes people reckless.
“Next time,” I say finally, “you don’t take unilateral action.”
Vin inclines his head. “Understood.”
“I told you I wanted answers.”
“And I got you certainty,” Vin replies.
That’s the problem.
I stand. “If you ever decide someone’s fate without looping me in again, we’ll have a different conversation.”
Vin nods once. “It won’t happen twice.”
I push to my feet.
“The Duvalls may be finished, but their fallout isn’t. Wells, I want eyes on anyone trying to step into their lanes. Vin, lean on our people. I want this city back to order. I’m over this bullshit.”
Both nod.
Outside, the night air is sharp against my lungs. I pull my phone from my pocket and call Wells before I can second-guess it.
He answers on the second ring.
“Something on your mind?” he asks.
“You hesitated back there,” I say. “Why?”
There’s a pause.
“The bunker surveillance went offline for about twenty minutes the night Tripp died.”
“And?”
“It came back with Tripp already slumped in the chair.”
I grimace. “Equipment failure?”
“I checked. It wasn’t a glitch. Someone manually disabled it.”
“Someone like…?”
Wells exhales.
“One of the Duvalls’ tech guys. The same one we flagged last month. He had access to that system through an old backdoor. We missed it.”
That settles heavy in my chest.
“They were still pulling strings.”
“Looks that way. A final insurance policy. If Tripp talked, he was dead either way.”
I drag a hand down my face.
“Clean it up.”
“Already working on it.”
I end the call and stare out at the city. The lights blur together. The Duvalls didn’t just kill my father. They poisoned everything they touched on the way down.
And now, finally, the city exhales.
The only problem is, I don’t.