Chapter 500
Chapter 499:
She didn’t call Gaston. She didn’t call the police. She didn’t reach for any of the official channels that DeLuca clearly controlled.
She called Justin.
His private assistant answered on the first ring, voice alert despite the hour. “Ms. Wolfe. The Senator is in session, but he left instructions to p>
“This will be brief,” Jocelyn said. “Please inform Senator Collins that his brother’s wife has encountered a small obstacle in Philadelphia. A zoning issue. A Mr. Frank DeLuca, operating an unlicensed entertainment venue at—” She provided the address. “The local planning commission seems to be experiencing some confusion about the appropriate regulatory framework. I’m sure the Senator has no interest in such matters, but if he happened to know anyone on the federal housing oversight committees who might—” She let the suggestion hang.
𝗔𝖽𝗱𝗂c𝗍𝗶𝘃𝖾 𝗻ov𝘦𝘭ѕ 𝘰ո
“I understand completely, Ms. Collins,” the assistant said. There was a faint smile in his voice. “The Senator will be informed immediately. You can expect resolution by morning p>
“Thank you.” Jocelyn paused. “And please — don’t mention this to Gaston. He worries p>
“Of course, ma’am. Discretion is our specialty p>
She hung up, poured herself a glass of wine from the minibar, and settled into the dark, watching DeLuca’s club throb with illegal life below, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would be silent.
She felt no guilt. No hesitation. This was how power worked. This was how the world she had married into functioned — networks of influence, favors exchanged, problems resolved not by rules but by relationships. She was learning. She was adapting. She was becoming exactly the kind of woman who could stand beside Gaston Collins and not be diminished by his shadow.
The wine was overpriced and mediocre and precisely what she needed. She drank it slowly, watching the city below, waiting for the dawn.
Director Evans of the Philadelphia City Planning Commission had held his position for eleven years. He had survived two mayoral administrations, one federal investigation, and countless zoning disputes that had threatened to become scandals.
He had never received a call from the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.
“Just a courtesy,” the voice had said — young, polished, and absolutely terrifying in its casualness. “The Senator was reviewing some urban development statistics and noticed an anomaly in Philadelphia’s noise complaint resolution rates. He wondered if there might be any irregularities in the approval process for entertainment venues in the historic district p>
Evans had sweated through his shirt. He had made promises. He had taken names.
By 9:15 AM, a joint task force of fire, health, and treasury agents had descended on Frank DeLuca’s warehouse. They found seventeen separate code violations, three unpermitted structural modifications, and a cash operation that had apparently never encountered the concept of sales tax.
By 9:47 AM, the building was sealed. DeLuca was in custody, his lawyers already scrambling, his political connections suddenly remembering urgent appointments elsewhere.
By 10:03 AM, Jocelyn’s phone buzzed with a text from Davis: It’s done. Permanently. How did you—
She didn’t respond. She was already packing, already calling for her car.