I Spent Six Years Working Underworld Contracts to Buy My Parents a California Ranch — I Returned to Find My Tenant Enslaving Them and Stealing Their Medication Money
The sun beat down on the iron gates of the Moretti ranch. My heart pounded with a mix of dread and determination. I had the proof. I had the ledger codes, the shell company documents, the evidence that Marcus had duped Boss Corvo.
I pushed on the heavy gate, expecting resistance. Instead, it was barred from the inside with a thick chain.
Two burly figures emerged from behind the gate’s stone pillars. They were Corvo’s enforcers, the same men who’d thrown me out before. Their suits were too neat for the dusty California heat.
“This is private property,” one of them said, his voice flat, his hand resting conspicuously on the bulge beneath his jacket. “Syndicate property, now. You’re not allowed in.”
“I have documentation,” I began, holding up my tablet, the screen glowing with the damning financial proofs. “These men are committing fraud against the syndicate and my family.”
The second enforcer stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “Marcus Gable called Boss Corvo personally. Said you were attempting a violent takeover. Breaching peace protocol.”
A cold sweat pricked my skin. Marcus had escalated again. He wasn’t just trying to keep me out; he was twisting the narrative, painting me as the aggressor, a rogue element disrupting syndicate order.
“Boss Corvo doesn’t tolerate insubordination,” the first enforcer stated, his gaze hard. “He’s aware of your claims. He’ll deal with them in due course. Until then, any attempt to force entry will be considered an act of war against the syndicate itself.”
He wasn’t just threatening me; he was warning me. This wasn’t about the ranch anymore. It was about respect for Corvo’s authority, which Marcus had manipulated.
My parents were inside that dilapidated shed. My father, with his failing heart, working in the scorching heat. I could feel their presence, a silent plea that clawed at my gut.
“My parents are being held against their will,” I said, my voice tight. “They are elderly. My father needs medication.”
The enforcers exchanged a glance. Their faces remained impassive. Underworld rules dictated respect for elders, but Marcus had clearly spun a tale of negligence and abandonment, making my family seem undeserving of protection.
“They’re being cared for,” the second enforcer replied, his words rote. “Marcus ensures they have shelter and food.”
Shelter? A tool shed. Food? Probably scraps. Marcus’s version of “cared for” was a cruel joke.
I stood there, the sun baking my skin, watching my family’s gates guarded by the very authority I was trying to appeal to. Marcus had successfully used Boss Corvo’s name as a shield, turning the syndicate’s power against me. The situation had gone from a family matter to a full-blown syndicate confrontation. I couldn’t just walk through. Not without inviting bloodshed.
I turned away from the gate, the metallic taste of failure on my tongue. I had to find another way in. A way Marcus wouldn’t anticipate.
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