I study her for a second. She’s fishing, but gently. “Always,” I reply.
She nods once. “Be careful.”
The words are simple, but something in her tone sounds wary.
“I am,” I say, then I step closer and adjust a loose strand of hair near her temple. “Don’t wander into anything you shouldn’t today.”
Her mouth curves faintly. “I never do.”
That almost makes me laugh.
Roarke appears at the end of the hall. “We’re ready,” he says.
I hold Riley’s gaze for one more second, then I turn and walk with Roarke toward the exit. I intend to fill her in about this new development, but it’ll have to wait till this evening.
Outside, three SUVs wait. Engines running. Men in place. We roll in to the location just after eight. My men fan out before the vehicles have fully stopped. Two to the main office. Three to the loading area. One to cut external communications.
Kinsella himself steps out of the office door with a coffee in his hand, confusion sliding into calculation when he sees me.
“Cillian,” he says carefully. “Bit early for a social call.”
I walk toward him without breaking stride. “We’re restructuring.”
His eyes flick to Roarke, then back to me. “Restructuring what?”
“This pier.”
He lets out a short laugh. “You don’t own it.”
“I do now.”
Roarke hands me a folder. I pass it to Kinsella.
He flips it open, scanning fast. His face shifts as he reads the transfer documents. Lease acquisitions. Debt purchases. Contract buyouts executed overnight through three intermediaries he didn’t realize were mine.
“You can’t just—” he starts.
I cock my head at him. “I already did. Is that a problem?”
He closes the folder slowly. “This was neutral.”
“It was exposed.”
His jaw moves as he thinks through the implications. “You’re squeezing lanes.”
Roarke shifts subtly, but I stop him from acting by raising my hand. “I’m stabilizing them.”
Behind him, two trucks idle at the loading bay. My men are already checking manifests, comparing weights against declared cargo. Kinsella lowers his voice. “You know this creates a problem.”
I consider that for a moment. “I know it solves a bigger one.”
His gaze hardens. “Patrick won’t like this.”
“I didn’t do it for his comfort.”
A forklift operator hesitates halfway across the yard, unsure whether to continue moving a pallet. Roarke gestures once, and the operator lowers it and steps back.
Kinsella looks like he’s about to stomp his feet on the ground. “You’re absorbing contracts that aren’t yours,” he sullenly says.