“They will be when you see his books.”

Roman led her through a private elevator to the forty-second floor. His office looked nothing like the dark criminal den she’d expected — all glass, steel, polished concrete, and disciplined silence.

A scale model of the East Harbor district occupied one wall, warehouses and rail lines and apartment blocks and docks spread beneath tiny white lights.

Roman stood beside it.

“Connor’s investment coalition wants to turn the harbor into luxury condominiums,” he said. “They’ll remove the freight yards, close three union warehouses, and displace nearly eight hundred families.”

“And you want the property for shipping terminals.”