Chapter 7 - The Master Plan
The railyard attack changed everything.
The Marcone family had crossed an unspoken line, bringing open military warfare into a commercial port and endangering civilian dockworkers. The federal authorities were mobilizing, city hall was on the verge of declaring a state of emergency, and Tony Marcone had gone to ground inside his heavily fortified estate in north Baltimore.
Inside the Fontana penthouse, the atmosphere was grim.
“We go in with heavy firepower,” Vincent Corvo insisted, slamming his fist onto the mahogany war room table. “We hit their estate tonight. Burn it to the ground.”
“And get eighty percent of our men arrested by the National Guard before we reach the front gates?” Elio countered coldly, standing by the panoramic window overlooking the harbor. “Marcone wants a war in the streets. He’s losing money, his supply lines are cut, and he thinks chaos will force the federal government to freeze all port operations equally.”
Elio turned, his gaze falling on Georgie, who was sitting at the head of the planning table, nursing a cup of black coffee. Her feet were wrapped in thick cashmere slippers Elio had bought for her, but her eyes were sharp, focused, and completely devoid of fear.
“Georgia,” Elio said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone that made every capo in the room avert their eyes. “What does the dispatcher say?”
Georgie stood up, picking up a black dry-erase marker, and walked over to the giant plexiglass board displaying Tony Marcone’s corporate assets.
“You don’t attack a snake at its head,” Georgie said smoothly, uncapping the marker. “You cut off its food supply and let it starve in its own hole.”
She drew a heavy black circle around three key facilities: the Marcone cold-storage warehouse in Curtis Bay, their private maritime refueling depot on the Patapsco, and the primary switching facility for Northline Freight.
“Tony Marcone’s entire enterprise depends on a seventy-two-hour rolling debt cycle,” Georgie explained, writing numbers with blistering speed. “He borrows against tomorrow’s cargo to pay for yesterday’s payroll. If his trucks stop moving for forty-eight hours, his shell companies default on their commercial maritime bonds. Once those bonds default, the federal maritime commission has the legal right to seize his docks without firing a single bullet.”
Corvo blinked. “We’re gonna defeat Tony Marcone with... accounting?”
“No,” Georgie smiled, and there was something so cold and predatory in her expression that even Tonio leaned back in his chair with a whistle. “We’re going to defeat him with municipal traffic law.”
She pointed the marker at Elio.
“Tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM, the city of Baltimore begins its annual environmental drainage inspections along the Patapsco corridor. I know this because my father’s cousin is the assistant director of public works. With one anonymous phone call providing certified satellite photos of chemical runoffs from Marcone’s illegal repair bays, the city will shut down all commercial access roads to Curtis Bay for mandatory hazmat testing.”
The capos stared at her in utter fascination.
“With the access roads closed,” Georgie continued, her eyes blazing with tactical genius, “all commercial traffic will be forced onto the interstate detour. Which brings them directly through the state weigh stations. And guess who has the personal cell phone numbers of the top three federal transport inspectors in Maryland?”
Elio’s eyes widened slightly. “Your old bosses from Pennsylvania.”
“They owe me three favors for saving their audit ratings last spring,” Georgie said with a wicked grin. “By noon tomorrow, every single Marcone delivery truck will be impounded for safety violations, their cargo will spoil in the holding yards, their payroll checks will bounce, and Daniel Adair will be singing like a canary to the federal prosecutors just to avoid going to federal prison.”
Silence blanketed the boardroom.
Vincent Corvo slowly shook his head in disbelief, took a cigar out of his pocket, and pointed it at Georgie with absolute reverence.
“Boss,” Corvo whispered to Elio. “I don’t care what you’re paying this girl. Double it.”
May you like
Elio walked over to Georgie, his eyes locked on hers, an intense, intoxicating warmth radiating from his face. He reached out, gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and spoke softly enough that only she could hear:
“Consider it done.”
