Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
freddie
The house is different. Being here without him feels weird. This is where Jer held meetings when business got complicated, when decisions needed to be made away from prying eyes and listening ears. This house was his and everyone was welcome, anytime.
Now it's where Maverick is calling his first official meeting as head of the Houlihan Gang.
I arrive early, like always. Old habits from years of working for a man who valued punctuality almost as much as loyalty.
The space echoes with memories; late nights planning jobs, early mornings dividing scores, the countless hours Jer spent teaching us the difference between being criminals and being professionals.
Stephen's already here, leaning against the back wall, checking his phone. Emmanuel arrives five minutes later, followed by the rest of the crew. Twenty-three men in total, everyone who worked directly under Jer. Everyone who's now looking to his nephew for leadership.
They file in quietly, respectfully. These are hard men, killers and thieves all of them, but there's something subdued about the gathering. We're still mourning. Still figuring out how to move forward without the man who held us all together.
Maverick enters last, which is smart. Let everyone else settle, let the anticipation build, then make your entrance. He's learning the theatrics of leadership, understanding that being in charge is about more than just giving orders.
He looks good. Confident. The grief is still there—probably always will be—but he's channeling it into something useful. Something Jer would recognize and approve of.
"Gentlemen," he says, voice carrying across the warehouse. "Thank you all for coming."
The conversations die away immediately. Twenty-three sets of eyes focus on the man who's about to define what comes next for all of us.
"I know this isn't easy," Maverick continues. "We've lost our leader, our friend, the man who built everything we have. Jerry Houlihan was irreplaceable."
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the gathered men. These aren't empty platitudes. Every person here owes something to Jer; freedom, purpose, life itself in some cases.
"But he didn't build this organization to die with him. He built it to last, to provide for our families, to give us something worth protecting. And that's exactly what we're going to do."
I find myself nodding along with the others. This is good. This is what Jer would have wanted—his nephew standing up, taking responsibility, refusing to let grief turn into paralysis.
"Trace Harrington is dead," Maverick says, and the temperature in the room drops several degrees. "The man who killed Jerry, who started this war, who brought pain to our families; he's gone. Freddie made sure of that."
Eyes turn toward me, and I feel the weight of their respect. Not just for the kill itself, but for the justice it represented. Trace had it coming, and everyone here knows it.
"But that doesn't mean we can relax. It doesn't mean we can go back to business as usual. The world's changed. We've changed. And we need to adapt."
He moves to the center of the room, commanding the space like he was born to it. There's something of Jer in his bearing now, that same quiet authority that makes dangerous men listen.
"From now on, we're restructuring. Becoming more than just a crew. We're becoming a family in every sense of the word."
Smart move. If we operate on family principles, it'll make us stronger. More loyal. Harder to break.
"Stephen," Maverick says, looking toward the man leaning against the wall. "You're my second in command. My right hand when it comes to operations and planning."
Stephen straightens, surprise flickering across his face before settling into determination. Good choice. Stephen's smart, careful, thinks three moves ahead. Exactly what Maverick needs beside him.
"Emmanuel," Maverick continues. "You're head of security. Personnel, protection, making sure our people stay safe."
Another smart appointment. Emmanuel's a sniper; he's also tactical. He knows how to organize defenses, how to spot threats before they become problems.
I watch this unfold with something that feels like pride. Maverick's doing exactly what he should be doing; surrounding himself with competent people, delegating authority, building a structure that can survive leadership changes.
Jer would be proud as hell.
"Freddie," Maverick says, turning to me. "You stay exactly where you are. Doing exactly what you do best."
Relief floods through me. I was worried he might try to promote me, pull me into the higher ranks. But Maverick understands what I am, what I'm good at.
"You're our specialist," he continues. "The man we call when conventional methods won't work. When we need something taken, someone found, problems solved quietly and efficiently."
Exactly. I'm not built for meetings and politics. I'm built for the work itself; the planning, the execution, the careful application of skills Jer spent fifteen years teaching me.
"The rest of you," Maverick says, addressing the room, "you keep doing what you've been doing. Same territories, same responsibilities, same standards. The only thing that's changed is the name at the top."
He pauses, letting that sink in. Stability. Continuity. The promise that their lives won't be turned upside down just because leadership has changed hands.
"Questions?" he asks.
Silence. These men know a good deal when they hear one. They're getting security, structure, clear chains of command. Everything they need to keep operating without the chaos that usually follows a power transition.
"Good," Maverick says. "Then let's get back to work."
The meeting breaks up gradually, men approaching Maverick to offer personal congratulations or discuss specific concerns. I watch him handle each conversation with the same calm competence he showed during the presentation.
Yeah, Jer would definitely be proud.
Stephen appears beside me as the crowd thins out.
"Well?" he asks.
"Well what?"
"Think it'll work? This new structure?"
"I think Maverick's got good instincts. And you and Emmanuel are solid choices for higher ranks."
"And you? Happy staying where you are?"
"Relieved, more like. The last thing I want is to spend my days worried about politics."
Stephen laughs. "Fair enough. Though I suspect you'll be busier than ever now that Maverick's officially in charge."
"Probably. But that's fine. I like being busy."
Emmanuel joins us, grinning. "Not bad for his first time running a meeting."
"He's got potential," Stephen agrees.
"More than potential. He's got presence. Commands authority. The kind of natural leadership you can't teach."
We watch Maverick finish his conversations, shake hands, accept the loyalty being offered. He's handling it well, not letting the power go to his head, staying focused on what matters.
"You think Jer knew?" Emmanuel asks quietly. "That this was how it would end up?"
"Maybe. He was always planning five moves ahead. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd already taught Maverick what to do without telling him what it was."
"Makes sense. Family first, right?"
"Always."
The warehouse empties gradually until it's just the four of us—Maverick, Stephen, Emmanuel, and me. The core of what we've become, the foundation everything else will be built on.
"So," Maverick says, approaching our small group. "How'd I do?"
"Like you've been doing it for years," I tell him honestly.
"Felt like it too. Weird how natural it seemed once I got started."
"That's the blood," Stephen says. "Jer's blood. Leadership runs in the family."
Maverick nods, but I can see the weight settling on his shoulders. The responsibility, the knowledge that twenty-three men and their families are now depending on his decisions.
"Freddie," he says. "Got a minute?"
"Sure."
We walk toward the office space Jer used to maintain in the back of the house. Same desk, same chair, same filing cabinets full of records that would send half of Dublin to prison.
"I need to ask you something," Maverick says once we're alone.
"Ask away."
"Are you good with this? Really? I know you and Jer were close. Closer than family, in some ways. If you wanted to challenge my leadership, now would be the time."
The question catches me off guard. Not because it's unexpected, but because it shows how well Maverick understands the dynamics at play.
"I don't want to lead," I tell him. "Never have. I'm good at what I do because I can focus on the work itself instead of worrying about politics."
"You sure? Because this is your chance. The men respect you. They'd follow you if you asked them to."
"They'd follow me into a job, sure. But following someone on a score is different from following them in life. I'm not built for that kind of responsibility."
Maverick studies my face, looking for signs of deception or hidden ambition. He won't find any. I'm being completely honest.
"Besides," I continue, "Jer spent years grooming you for this. Teaching you about leadership, about the bigger picture.”
"You think I'm ready?"
"I think you just proved it. The way you handled that meeting, the appointments you made, the tone you set—that was professional leadership. The kind Jer would recognize and respect."
Relief crosses Maverick's face. He'd been carrying doubt, uncertainty about whether he was the right choice. Natural enough after everything that's happened.
"Thank you," he says. "For backing me. For staying loyal."
"Family stays loyal. That's what Jer taught us."
"Speaking of family, how's Alastríona doing? Really?"
The question brings me back to why I'm eager to finish up here and get home to the woman who's become my anchor in this chaotic world.
"Better. She’s still processing everything that happened, still dealing with the grief. But she's strong. Stronger than she knows."
"Henry's death hit her hard."