Page 37 of Sins of the Father

"South Boston they blew the shit out of our storage facility," Eamon says. "Five men down, two critical. They disabled security remotely and only took shipping records."

"Moretti's crew?" I pull on pants while Orla sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Looks that way. This was a clean job. Eight minutes in and out."

I turn to Orla. "Get dressed."

She moves quickly, no questions. Seven minutes later, we are speeding down I-93, whatever we started in my bed earlier abandoned.

"What happened?” she asks as I push past ninety.

"Attack on our off-site storage facility. I need to handle it myself." I keep details minimal, watching her from the corner of my eye. I still can’t trust her, this could have been her—except she was with me.

She’s not afraid, panicking, she is not even shocked.

"What would they want at a storage facility?" she asks.

"We'll see when we arrive," I answer, filing away her reactions.

Cars fillthe lot when we arrive. EMS treat injured staff while private security secures a perimeter. The cops are not invited—not yet. Eamon meets us at the door, blood staining his shirt sleeve. He looks between me and Orla, confused why I would bring her—why she is even still alive no doubt.

"They went straight for what they wanted, and knew where to find it" he says, walking beside me. "Turkish and Ukrainian manifest records. They took both digital and paper files."

"Our people?" I ask.

"Peters and Mahoney are in surgery. The others took clean head shots." He looks to see Orla’s reaction, unsure of what I am doing with her.

I mull it over, it is a very strange thing to steal from us. Moretti wouldn't make this move, it is not about territory and that is his only motive. This is something else, I have a prickly feeling about this.

“Dad wants half-hour updates."

I turn around to send Orla home—this goes beyond an assistant's job—she shouldn’t be here. This is family business. But she is already on her phone.

"Orla Kelly from Kavanagh Import. We need shipment KIE-3072 rerouted to Providence immediately. I'll send authorization codes and a new documentation now."

She meets my eyes, phone against her chest. "The missing files match the accounts on those shipments, they might be planning something."

"Thank you," I say, masking my suspicions. "That works."

Orla returns to her call as Eamon catches my eye. His look says what I'm thinking. How the fuck does she know about our Providence backup plan?

"Cloud backups will recover most of the data," she says, approaching with a tablet. "But the Eastern European manifests are a problem. They were kept separate for—" She stops, choosing words. "—regulatory audits."

"How do you know about those files?" I ask.

"I've organized your digital systems for three months." She meets my eyes. "I see patterns, I told you that."

Her answer sounds defensive.

I catch Eamon's attention and signal with a small nod toward Orla. He understands without words.

Four hours into our recovery plans, Orla brings a proposal I never expected.

"We can use Gibraltar," she says quietly, showing documents on her tablet. "If we route through their servers, we can bypass all compromised systems."

I stare at her. Our Gibraltar operation is known to only eight people in the fucking world. She is not one of them, it doesn’t exist on paper. A tiny blip in a tax haven far away.

"How do you know about Gibraltar?" I ask, actually I accuse. I am done with her lies and secrets now.

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