Jack Carlton Reed Pablo Escobar -

The door clicked shut.

“I’ve had thirty years to rehearse it. You were gone for most of them, remember? Chasing ghosts in the jungle. Mom died alone. I raised myself on your stories about Escobar. Not the killing—the structure . The way one man could hold a country in his palm.” Carlton’s voice cracked, just once. “You wanted to bring down a monster. I wanted to become the thing that monsters are afraid of.” jack carlton reed pablo escobar

The rain hammered harder. Jack’s hand drifted toward the holster under his jacket—old habit. “You’re selling poison to kids.” The door clicked shut

Jack felt the floor tilt. “You didn't. Tell me you didn't.” Chasing ghosts in the jungle

“You found the wallet,” Carlton said.

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.

“Found it? It flagged every NSA algorithm from here to Fort Meade. I didn’t find it. It found me.” Jack stood slowly, joints cracking. “Sit down, son. Tell me why you’re laundering Escobar’s cocaine money thirty years after the man died.”