Two black cars rolled up to one of Medi-Tech's warehouses in Brooklyn.
The place was a massive white building that, in my mind at least, stretched across three whole city blocks. Trucks growled at the loading bays along the outer wall, the deafening machinery echoing for miles. Employees shuffled in and out, looking confused by the chaos. They wore helmets and bright orange safety vests that—if you asked me—protected them from absolutely nothing.
I mean, they were just loading drugs, for crying out loud. What could possibly go wrong?
The cars passed multiple checkpoints with electronic IDs and finally pulled into the visitor lot. The doors swung open, and five men stepped out—suits, dark shades, expressionless faces. They moved toward the entrance with stiff precision.
Securi
