Chapter Icon Cartier
ICON CARTIER
I met ASAC Roland Pierce in an empty service lot off the river, behind an old warehouse with no cameras. The old warehouse had busted loading docks and no traffic at night. The only witnesses back there were the river rats and stray dogs trying to survive winter.
I was already there when his dark gray Audi rolled in and cut across the cracked pavement. My truck sat facing the water with the headlights off. I stayed inside another few seconds and watched him kill the engine.
Finally, his door opened. He got out in a camel overcoat, leather gloves, and polished shoes. He looked around once, then came toward me.
I stepped out too and shut my door behind me. The wind off the water was biting enough to cut through wool.
Pierce tucked his chin into his collar as he stopped a few feet from me. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”
“It could’ve,” I said. “But I run this. You don’t.”
Scowling, he told me, “Sienna Langford’s case is closed. There’s no active push behind it anymore. Mallory’s off it. The runaway narrative stuck. Missing persons didn’t escalate it. Nobody upstairs is interested in spending time chasing a ghost.”
I nodded once. “And Mallory?”
“She’s still convinced something happened, but she’s not in position to do anything with it.”
“Good.”
Pierce exhaled through his nose and glanced toward my truck. “So, are we done?”
I opened the rear door, reached in, and pulled out the black duffel. The bag was heavy enough to thump when I set it on the hood between us.
Pierce’s eyes dropped to it. He looked at me first, then unzipped the bag just enough to see the stacks.
His shoulders eased a little.
“There’s two hundred thousand in there,” I told him.
He zipped it back up. “For a closed file?”
I shook my head. “No. For being a good boy.”
The wind blew harder between us for a second.
Pierce put his hand on the duffel but did not lift it yet. “I held up my end.”
“You did.”
“So, why are you giving me money?”
“Leverage puts fear in a person, but money keeps him loyal.” Then I gave him a taunting smirk.
“You got your wife at home in Winnetka while you got your side bitch in that hotel suite downtown twice a month. You got that gambling debt in Indiana and a son whose coke problem should’ve buried his law school applications, but you bought his acceptance letters. ”
Pierce’s grip on the duffel tightened. “You’ve made your point.”
“Just making sure you remember why you’re going to keep your mouth closed.”
He swallowed his anger because he had no other choice.
Men like him hated that somebody outside their class knew exactly how dirty he was.
“If your conscience ever starts fucking with you, if you ever decide your career needs a redemption arc, I don’t need a courtroom, wire, or jury to ruin you. All I have to do is let the right pieces fall into the right inboxes, and your whole life comes apart at the seams.”
Pierce scowled as his skin turned red.
But I went on to make sure he got the point.
“Your wife leaves. Your son’s future burns.
Your pension disappears under investigation.
Your side bitch starts singing to the blogs.
And every man you’ve ever looked down on gets to watch you turn into exactly what you spent your whole career bringing charges against.”
He looked down at the duffel again, then back at me, and I could see the surrender settling into him. Then he lifted the bag off the hood.
Jamir found enough dirt on Roland Pierce to ruin his life. I approached Pierce with what Jamir had discovered and told him to shut Sienna’s case down or else we would release every piece of it to social media and every news outlet hungry for scandal. He did what he was told.
I did what I had to do to make sure my family stayed on top, like a Cartier does.
“Keep Mallory away from anything that touches me, my family, or that Langford file.”
Pierce tucked the duffel against his leg. “I’ll handle her.”
“You’d better.”
He took a step back then.
“One more thing.”
He stopped but didn't look back at me.
“If Langford starts making enough noise again, I hear it from you before I hear it from the street.”
Pierce gave the smallest nod. “Fine.”
He headed back toward his Audi, and I watched him put the bag in his trunk, get in, and leave that dark lot slower than he entered it.