Chapter 12 · free to read
No cash. No gold. Forty years of a man who trusted nothing at all, filed away inside a wall.
My mother at twenty-five. My father with hair. And a third man ringed in red by somebody's very angry pen.
Twenty-two years of signatures. The ringed man had cleared every cargo my father ever landed, and he was not in customs any more. He was in the cabinet.
I had watched him take a bullet scar without a sound. That was the first time in twenty-nine years I saw my father's hand shake.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.