Beyond The Shadow

Chapter 18

The following morning started quietly again, but tension buzzed beneath every surface in the Sombra estate.

Francis was already up, sitting alone in the downstairs lounge with a cup of black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He scrolled through messages from their associates some were growing impatient, others spooked by the attack on the prison transport and Alister’s escape.

He looked up just as Edmund stepped into the room, dressed in a dark grey suit, sharp and commanding.

“Any word from Lagos?. They've been weirdly quiet lately, especially that boy, what's his name?….. Femi, is it?” Edmund asked.

“No word from them yet,” Francis said. “They’re holding back. They want to see if the U.S. actually catches him.”

“Alister knows too much about the business, unfortunately now so does Anonymus. We still haven't figured out how they managed to know exactly what was going on”

Edmund grunted. “Cowards. Nobody wants to get their hands dirty anymore.”

Francis leaned back. “We need a distraction. Something big. Something that shifts the heat off us and makes it look like we’re still in control.”

Edmund poured himself a drink, whiskey again, even though it was barely past nine. “You worry too much.”

Francis shook his head. “No, you don’t worry enough. This isn’t like before. Anonymous exposed the cracks. Alister’s disappearance makes us look weak. And worse, people are asking if we’re losing touch.”

Edmund turned sharply. “We haven’t lost anything.”

Francis lowered his voice. “Then maybe it’s time to start acting like it.”

Before Edmund could respond, the door opened behind them.

Andrew walked in, dressed neatly, with a clean shave, every bit the son of a powerful man. But there was something in his eyes now, a sharper edge.

Edmund barely looked at him. “Didn’t expect you this early.”

Andrew smiled faintly. “Thought it’d be good to start the day as a team.”

Francis didn’t hide his smirk. “A team? Are you feeling alright?”

Andrew took the empty chair across from them. “I feel perfect. In fact, I was thinking… maybe I could take point on the Marseille shipment. Handle it myself?”

Francis blinked. “That’s my job.”

Andrew shrugged. “Thought I’d show you both that I can handle more responsibility.”

Edmund eyed him for a moment. Then nodded slowly. “Francis, let him take it. We’ll see how he does.”

Francis opened his mouth to object but stopped himself. He leaned back instead, watching Andrew like a man watching a snake in the grass. He knew this newfound sense of responsibility he saw in his brother was suspicious. He knew something was up but couldn't put his finger on it.

Andrew smiled at him. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll let you know if I need help.”

Francis stared at him menacingly as he walked out of the room.

By late afternoon, Andrew was in the back seat of one of their black sedans, reviewing the logistics file for the Marseille shipment. It was a high-stakes operation, involving rerouted arms and a fragile alliance with a crew that had betrayed before. The kind of job Edmund usually assigned to Francis.

The driver didn’t speak, just followed the GPS as they headed toward a private airstrip outside the city. Andrew stared out the window, thinking not just about the job but about what came after. He knew Francis wouldn’t take this lightly.

When they arrived at the hangar, an older man in a leather jacket waited by the plane. Marcos. French-Moroccan, mid-fifties, one of the few men who had survived five regime changes in Marseille’s underground. He offered Andrew a nod and a half smile.

“I expected the other one,” Marcos said as they shook hands.

Andrew gave a polite laugh. “Surprise.”

Marcos raised an eyebrow. “Not the good kind, I hope?”

Andrew kept his tone friendly. “Let’s just say I’m taking more interest in the family business.”

Inside the hangar, they discussed cargo routes, port bribes, and the security payout. Everything seemed to go smoothly until Marcos leaned forward, voice lowering.

“There’s talk,” he said. “People say your brother might not be the one pulling strings anymore.”

Andrew’s expression didn’t change. “People talk too much.”

Marcos chuckled. “Maybe. But in this line of work, talk kills faster than bullets.”

Back at the estate, Francis was pacing.

He stood in the family’s private situation room, staring at a map of Europe spread across the glass display. His phone buzzed. A message from one of their men in the port of Marseille.

Francis read it. Twice. Then set the phone down, hard.

Hannah walked in just then. She hadn’t said much since Alister’s escape, but she noticed how on edge Francis had become.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

He gave her a look. “Andrew’s trying to take my place. You see that, right?”

Hannah hesitated. “He just wants to prove himself.”

“He’s going to ruin everything.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe you’re scared he won’t.”

Francis’s jaw tightened.

“I’m just saying,” she added, “if he does better than you expect, maybe it’s not the worst thing.”

Francis walked out without a word.

That evening, Edmund sat alone in the garden with a cigar, watching the koi fish circle the pond.

He heard footsteps and didn’t have to turn to know it was Andrew.

“Everything set?” Edmund asked.

Andrew nodded. “Marcos gave the green light. He was… surprised to see me.”

Edmund puffed smoke. “Good. You need to get used to that. Surprise is leverage.”

There was a pause. Then Edmund added, “Don’t screw this up.”

Andrew smiled faintly. “You’re rooting for me?”

Edmund didn’t even smile back. “I’m watching you.”

Inside the house, Francis stood at the bar, staring into a glass he hadn’t touched.

He dialled a number. A man answered in French.

“Go ahead,” Francis said.

There was silence.

Then: “Are you sure?”

Francis’s voice was steady. “If anything goes wrong in Marseille, make sure it lands on Andrew.”