Chapter 36: Rallying the Troops
Ethan's relentless push to reshape Hell's Kitchen had every gang boss on edge. The man was an animal that could never be fed enough — ever since he'd returned to the Kitchen and swallowed up the entire eastern district, the other gangs had been bleeding territory, revenue, and manpower. Now he was reaching for their people directly, using a school as the excuse.
If they actually agreed to this, the slow death was obvious. No new recruits meant no future. What were they supposed to do in five years when a turf war broke out — send a squad of fifty-year-olds with bad knees? This had to be stopped.
Gustavo's plan sounded far-fetched — maybe even naive — but the logic was hard to argue with.
If Ethan ignored the gangs' objections and forced the school through anyway, they'd resist. Let the government make the first move. If the feds succeeded, everybody wins. If the feds stayed out of it, there'd be no evidence pointing back to any of the bosses.
Either way, whatever friction developed between Ethan and the government wouldn't splash onto them.
The calculus took about five seconds to click. The room — or rather, the call — did an instant one-eighty. The same bosses who'd been mocking Gustavo minutes ago were suddenly falling over themselves to praise him.
Well, well. The Mexican can actually think. Who knew?
Gustavo basked in it. But he was keeping one card facedown. This crowd was full of snakes — you always held something back.
Growing up as a cartel boss in Mexico meant you learned to buy cops and politicians before you learned to drive. It was a survival skill. If Gustavo hadn't maintained that tradition, he'd have been put against a wall and shot years ago.
He'd brought that playbook to America and hadn't stopped running it. His network of compromised officials was extensive, and the crown jewel was the Mayor of New York City himself.
Gustavo's intelligence network had painted a clear picture: the mayor lived well beyond his means, maintained questionable relationships with half the business community in the city, and had even taken money from Fisk.
Anyone else might have written him off as already taken. Gustavo wasn't anyone else. His philosophy was simple — throw enough money at a man and loyalties shift. Even Fisk's people could become his people.
He'd made contact, then buried the mayor in gifts — luxury cars, vacation homes, the works. Three hundred million dollars later, the mayor was firmly in Gustavo's pocket. Fisk's asset had been flipped, and the cartel now had a political patron in New York.
Gustavo knew perfectly well that ordinary muscle posed zero threat to Ethan or Fisk. Which was why he planned to call the mayor the moment this video call ended and arrange for military and special forces support.
You take a man's money, you solve his problems. That was the deal.
Tom Ralph seized the momentum. "We don't need to be afraid of Ethan and Fisk. Even if the government doesn't move, someone else will. That's why I think we should attend this meeting."
The flattery stopped. Gustavo glared at Tom's face on the screen — the man had just stolen his spotlight — but curiosity won out. "And who exactly is planning to move against Ethan?"
Tom let the question hang for a moment. "Tell me — does anyone here know how Fisk rose to power in the first place?"
Heads shook across every screen. They all knew Fisk had backing — no one climbs that fast without it — but the identity of his patron had always been a mystery. Every eye turned to Tom.
"Has anyone heard of an organization called the Hand?"
The realization hit like a freight train. That's how Fisk had ascended so quickly — the Hand had been behind him all along. The Hand: an ancient organization of ninjas, thieves, and assassins with a history spanning centuries.
Gustavo connected the dots instantly. "So you're saying the Hand is about to move against Ethan?"
Tom nodded. "Madame Gao — one of the Hand's leaders. She runs their illegal pharmaceutical and narcotics operations in the United States. Ethan's anti-drug crusade in Hell's Kitchen has been very bad for her business. She's sending assassins. Soon."
Tom kept his language precise. He mentioned only that Madame Gao wanted Ethan eliminated — not Fisk — and that she'd promised to install Tom as the new king of Hell's Kitchen.
The effect was electric. Every boss on the call started clamoring, asking Tom if he could introduce them to Madame Gao — all of them suddenly desperate to tap into the Hand's drug pipeline and grab a piece of the action.
Gustavo watched his fellow drug dealer competitors circle Tom like hungry dogs, and his expression curdled. Five minutes ago they'd been kissing his ring. One mention of Madame Gao and he was yesterday's news.
Unable to stomach it, Gustavo killed his feed, grabbed the nearest woman, and shoved her head down to work off his frustration.
Tom noticed Gustavo's icon go dark and allowed himself a thin smile. Still too young. It had taken nothing more than a simple redirect to pull every boss's attention away from Gustavo and onto himself.
"Gentlemen — patience," Tom said smoothly. "As long as we stand together, Ethan and Fisk are no threat at all."
"We attend the meeting. We watch them perform. If we don't show up, word gets out that Hell's Kitchen's gangs are afraid of Ethan Cross and Wilson Fisk — too scared to even show their faces. We can't afford that."
"Once the Hand handles Ethan, I'll share my distribution channels with everyone here." He paused. "Highest bidder gets priority, of course."
Tom understood the principle: you have to spend money to make money. Compared to becoming the undisputed ruler of Hell's Kitchen, sharing a few distribution channels was nothing.
Besides — once he was on top, he could always eliminate these fools later and take back everything they'd earned. Their profits would become his profits soon enough.
The mood on the call turned euphoric.
"Count us in — we'll do our part to take Ethan down!"
"Nobody can stand against us united!"
"We'll be at that meeting. Let's show Ethan Cross what Hell's Kitchen's gangs are really made of!"
The bosses were practically tripping over each other with tough talk and bravado.
Tom watched the circus for another moment, then quietly disconnected. He had no interest in watching grown men high-five each other over a plan they barely understood.
"I wonder," he murmured to himself, "how many of these idiots are going to end up dead before this is over."
Morons. Every one of them. So easy to manipulate it was almost boring. Did they really think taking down Ethan Cross would be that simple?
But Tom had gotten what he needed. He'd stoked the hatred between the gang bosses and Ethan, dangled just enough incentive and false confidence to give them the courage to stand against Ethan's crew. Mission accomplished.
The rest would take care of itself.
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