Jack Carlton Reed Pablo Escobar [portable] -

The rain over Medellín had a way of washing everything clean—blood, ash, memory. But not this night.

“That’s not an answer.”

Jack picked up the aguardiente, raised the bottle to the empty room, and drank until he couldn’t see the photo on his laptop anymore. jack carlton reed pablo escobar

“I didn't wake it,” Carlton said softly. “I bought it. Three billion dollars in dormant claims. Every route, every safe house, every politician who still remembers how to look the other way. It’s not a cartel anymore, Dad. It’s a logistics company.” The rain over Medellín had a way of

Carlton nodded. At the door, he paused. “The money from those wallets? It’s not for me. It’s a pension fund. Every driver, every look-out, every old sicario who kept their mouth shut for thirty years—they get paid. That’s what empire means, Dad. You take care of your own.” “I didn't wake it,” Carlton said softly

Jack felt the floor tilt. “You didn't. Tell me you didn't.”