Chapter 79 The Mother
The Mother
Rourke Hale thinks in systems.
In structure.
In leverage.
He dismantles towns like machines.
Efficient.
Clean.
Impersonal.
I do not.
I prefer something simpler.
People.
The tavern inspection was a test.
They resisted.
That tells me something valuable.
Where the pride is.
Where the spine of this town lives.
And pride is always the easiest handle.
I sit in my hotel suite overlooking the river and scroll through photographs on my tablet.
Not the girl.
Not the baby.
Something quieter.
Something easier to reach.
A woman who lives in a small house near the library.
Widowed.
Fixed income.
Church every Sunday.
Garden in the backyard.
A good neighbor.
The kind of person a town quietly depends on.
Perfect.
I smile slightly.
“Not everything needs to be loud,” I say.
My assistant waits silently beside the desk.
I place the call.
When the man answers, I speak calmly.
“Let it look like an accident.”
A pause.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t forget to make sure Saint Lawson understands,” I add softly,
“this one is from me.”