Chapter 9 - The Settlement
The transition of power was formalized on a rainy Friday morning in an unmarked conference room overlooking the Savannah River.
The remaining capos and regional underbosses sat around the long mahogany table in dead silence. They had seen what happened to Desmond. They knew that Grant Holloway was not a man to be tested, lied to, or underestimated.
Grant sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over the room with quiet authority.
"The restructuring is complete," Grant announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "The Holloway Organization will no longer operate in the shadows of petty extortion and unrecorded debt. We protect our territories, we honor our commercial partners, and we expand our legitimate maritime holdings. Anyone who has a problem with the new direction has twenty-four hours to collect their severance and leave the state."
Not a single person spoke. Heads nodded in unison all around the table.
"Meeting adjourned," Grant said.
As the men filed out in respectful, hushed silence, Marcus Vance lingered behind, closing the heavy oak door behind the last departing capo.
"Word on the street is already stabilizing, Boss," Marcus reported, sliding a final folder onto the desk. "The Langford group issued a joint press release this morning confirming the wedding postponement due to 'unforeseen family security matters.' No suspicions raised. Your uncle's old loyalists have all fallen in line."
"Good," Grant said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "Keep an eye on the Tybee perimeter anyway. I don't want any stray dogs wandering near the house."
May you like
"Consider it done."
Grant grabbed his car keys and his leather folio, stepping out of the industrial warehouse and into the cooling afternoon rain. He had a home to go back to—a real home, waiting by the ocean.
