Conrad stood by the window, the morning light casting sharp angles across his weathered face. His skin, once smooth and strong, had become rough and leathery from years spent under the harsh sun, each wrinkle telling a story of battles fought and decisions made. His eyes, deep-set and shadowed by heavy brows, had a piercing quality, cold and calculating, yet hiding a depth that few could see.

Conrad’s rough, calloused hands rested heavily on the windowsill, the skin hardened and cracked from years of labor and conflict. He peered through the sparkling glass, observing the workers below as they unloaded cargo from a newly arrived ship. Their movements were methodical, almost mechanical, each task executed with precision and efficiency. The sight brought a smirk to his weathered face, a rare expression of satisfaction.

His daughter often complained about his methods, calling them harsh and unnecessary, but Conrad knew better. Discipline was not in human nature; men were prone to laziness, to rebellion, always seeking ways to do less. But not him. From a young age, he had understood that success required sacrifice, that true power came from a relentless commitment to order. He had shaped these docks, and the men who worked them, with an iron fist, molding chaos into something resembling perfection.

He was aware that his ways were far from righteous.The laws he had bent and the lives he had pushed to the brink were all part of a larger plan, a necessary evil to maintain control and ensure the prosperity of his domain. Conrad justified each sin with the sight before him—the neatly stacked crates, the disciplined workers moving in unison, all of it a testament to his leadership.

Conrad's gaze drifted to the neatly arranged documents on his desk. With a measured pace, he walked over, his eyes narrowing as he sifted through the monthly reports. Each line of profit and loss was a testament to his ruthless efficiency, and as he reviewed the figures, a satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

But his expression shifted as he turned to Arizona's paperwork. His smirk faded into a contemplative frown as he scrutinized the details, his mind weighing the implications of her work. There was something about her methods that both intrigued and unsettled him, a subtle tension between her approach and his own.

He had never truly loved his daughter—not in the way a father should. Perhaps it was because she reminded him too much of her mother or maybe because she had always been too independent, too resistant to his control. From the beginning, she had been a challenge, a thorn in his side. Yet, as he now looked over her meticulously prepared documents, he couldn’t deny the power she had become under his guidance.

In his hands, she was no longer just a rebellious child but a finely honed weapon—sharp, precise, and relentless—a tool forged to fulfill his grand design. The satisfaction of having molded her into something formidable brought a twisted sense of pride to his heart.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the door. He turned slowly, his expression hardening as he barked, "Enter!"

The door creaked open, and Enoch stepped inside, his head bowed in a show of deference, but there was something almost serpentine in the way he moved, his eyes flickering with a cunning glint as he avoided direct eye contact. Enoch was a man who knew how to navigate the dangerous waters of power, his slight frame and unassuming demeanor a perfect disguise for the calculating mind beneath. He had learned long ago that appearing meek and servile was the best way to gather information, to understand the true dynamics at play without drawing attention to himself.

"Mr. York came to see you. If he is allowed to enter..." Enoch's voice was soft, almost oily, as if he were subtly reminding Conrad that he had the power to grant or deny access, even if only in the most superficial way.

"Damn it, Enoch," Conrad snapped, his voice laced with irritation. "He doesn’t need approval to enter. Bring him in, and be quick about it!"

Enoch gave a slight, almost imperceptible bow, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned to leave. He knew Conrad's temper well, knew how to avoid its full brunt while still managing to assert a subtle influence. As he walked out of the room, Enoch's mind was already at work, plotting how best to use this latest interaction to his advantage.

Enoch left the door swing open and a tall, overweight man with a thick, yellowed mustache strode into the room. His presence was as imposing as his size, though his once-sharp features were softened by time and indulgence.

“Aaron, long time no see…” Conrad greeted, his tone measured but carrying a hint of mockery.

“Missed you too, Conrad,” Aaron replied, his voice thick with irony as he surveyed the room.

“But we’re not here for reunions, are we?” Conrad continued, cutting through the pretense with the precision of a knife.

“Straight to business, as always. You could never let your hair down,” Aaron chuckled, settling heavily into the armchair by the window.

“No,” Conrad responded, his voice hardening as he gestured toward the docks visible through the gleaming glass. “That’s how I built all this.”

Aaron leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Has my gift arrived?”

“Yes, my dear,” Conrad replied, a dark satisfaction in his tone as he turned to his desk, rifling through the neatly stacked papers. He was searching for the sketch of the dock, the one that detailed the placement of the special cargo. His brow furrowed as he sifted through the documents, a small but growing frustration tightening his features.

“I could swear I put that paper here… Odd,” Conrad muttered, his voice laced with irritation as his search came up empty. He forced a smile, dismissing the concern. “No matter. I can guide you there myself.”

Aaron's eyes gleamed with interest, his mustache twitching as he grinned. “That’s even better.”

Aaron’s eyes gleamed with interest, his mustache twitching as he grinned. “That’s even better.”

Conrad nodded in agreement, but a flicker of unease settled deep in his gut. The missing sketch nagged at him, a small but persistent thorn in his thoughts. However, with Aaron here, he had to maintain his composure. Business came first, and whatever was amiss could be dealt with later.

As they made their way through the bustling docks, Conrad took every opportunity to show off his well-trained workers. The men moved with clockwork precision, lifting crates and loading them onto ships with practiced efficiency.

“Look at them,” Conrad said with a smirk, his tone laced with condescension. “Every one of them knows their place. A bit of discipline, and they perform like trained dogs. Useful, as long as you keep the leash tight.”

Aaron chuckled, his eyes scanning the busy scene with a mix of amusement and approval. “You always had a way of getting results, Conrad. No wonder this place runs like a well-oiled machine.”

Conrad’s smirk deepened. “It’s all about knowing how to handle people. Give them just enough to keep them obedient, but never let them forget who’s in charge.”

As they continued walking, the conversation took a more serious turn. “So, Aaron,” Conrad began, his voice lowering slightly, “how’s business in City Hall? I trust things are running smoothly?”

Aaron’s grin widened, his mustache curling upwards as he took a deep breath, filling his chest with pride. “As smoothly as politics ever does, my friend. Being mayor of San Francisco has its challenges, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed with interest. “And the shipment? No prying eyes?”

“None,” Aaron replied confidently. “I’ve made sure of it. Everything will go off without a hitch"

As they reached the far end of the docks, Conrad led Aaron to a row of crates stacked neatly in the shadows. He paused, glancing around to ensure no one was watching, before prying one open with a practiced, almost delicate, touch. The wooden lid gave way to reveal an array of guns, their metal surfaces gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Conrad raised an eyebrow, turning to Aaron with a curious smirk. "Why do you need this many guns?"

Aaron leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It’s simple, Conrad. I plan to distribute these to the mafia in town. Let them run wild for a while, stir up chaos. Then, as the virtuous mayor, I'll step in to clean up the mess. The people will see me as their saint, the hero who restored order. And when election time comes around, they’ll have no choice but to reelect me."

Conrad chuckled, shaking his head at the audacity of the plan. “Dumb sheeps” Aaron added with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

Conrad’s laughter deepened, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest. "You always did know how to play the game, Aaron. And you’re right—people are so easily led. They’ll be eating out of your hand before they even realize what’s happening."

Aaron’s grin widened, his mustache curling at the edges as he watched Conrad close the crate with a final, decisive motion.

“Let’s make sure this stays between us,” Conrad said, his tone firm and commanding, leaving no room for doubt.

“Of course,” Aaron replied, his voice smooth and practiced. “Loose lips sink ships, after all.”

Conrad nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. “Let’s get back to the office. You’ll need to sign the ledger to acknowledge the shipment.”

Aaron sighed, his earlier bravado faltering for a moment. “Always meticulous, Conrad. Can’t we keep this off the record?”

“I’m afraid not,” Conrad replied, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Everything has to be documented. It’s the only way to keep things in order.”

As they walked back to the office, Conrad spotted Arizona standing near a distant corner, partially hidden in the shadows. She was smoking, her posture tense as if she were trying to avoid being seen. The sight of her, cigarette in hand, brought a flicker of irritation to Conrad’s eyes.

As Conrad and Aaron entered the office, Arizona followed closely behind, her face carefully composed but her movements betraying a hint of tension. The office was a pristine space of dark wood and leather, its air heavy with the scent of ink and leather-bound books. Aaron took a moment to survey Arizona with an almost predatory gaze, his eyes lingering on her with an unsettling intensity.

Arizona, dressed in a form-fitting burgundy blouse and a knee-length black skirt, felt Aaron's gaze like a physical weight. The skirt, though stylish, seemed to make her more conscious of every movement, and she felt acutely aware of how the fabric hugged her form as she walked.

Conrad, focused on his ledger, was oblivious to the discomfort in the room. He was absorbed in finalizing their paperwork, his pen moving steadily across the page. Arizona stood nearby, her posture stiff as she tried to ignore Aaron's eyes on her. She shifted her weight slightly, feeling the fabric of her skirt shift and cling, which only heightened her discomfort.

Aaron’s gaze, though hidden behind a veneer of professionalism, was unmistakable. His eyes roamed over her with an unwelcome scrutiny, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tried to mask his lingering interest. Arizona’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration as she tried to keep her composure.

Aaron signed the ledger with a flourish and, after a curt nod to Conrad, exited the office. The door clicked shut behind him, and Conrad’s attention immediately turned to Arizona, who had been trying to ignore the discomfort from Aaron’s gaze.

“Arizona,” Conrad’s voice was sharp, his displeasure palpable. “I see you’ve picked up some habits from the dock workers. Smoking is for the laborers, not for someone in your position.” His tone was scathing, as though her lapse in professionalism was a personal affront.

Arizona’s cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and frustration. “I apologize, father. It won’t happen again.” She straightened her posture, trying to regain her composure as Conrad handed her a stack of papers.

“These need to be sorted and filed by the end of the day,” he instructed, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken expectation. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. You’ll need to work through the night to get everything done. There’s a lot on my plate.”

His implication was clear: Arizona was to handle not only her tasks but also the overflow of his responsibilities, a subtle reminder of her subordinate position. Though irritated by the extra burden, she managed a faint, strained smile. “Understood,” she replied, her voice steady despite her annoyance and aknowledge that this was a punichment for her audiacy to indulge in a habit she knew her father hated.

As the workday stretched into evening, Arizona found herself buried under a mountain of paperwork. The office, usually a place of orderly efficiency, now felt like a dungeon The warm light from the desk lamp cast long shadows, accentuating the weariness in her eyes.

She methodically sorted through the documents, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. The tasks seemed endless, each sheet of paper a reminder of her mounting workload. Every now and then, she glanced at the clock, noting how the hours dragged on.

Despite her best efforts, the work piled up, and the fatigue began to set in. Her back ached from the long hours spent hunched over the desk, and her eyes grew tired from the constant strain of reading and organizing.

As midnight approached, Arizona’s exhaustion was palpable, her eyes heavy as she toiled through the stack of papers. The office was a quiet cocoon of late-night labor, with only the occasional shuffle of documents and the muted click of her pen to break the stillness.

The tranquility was disrupted by the soft creak of the door as it opened to reveal a striking woman. With her golden blonde hair flowing in loose waves and eyes that radiated both intelligence and charm, she stood out like a beacon against the dim office light.

“Good evening, Ms. Lacks?” the woman inquired, her voice smooth and laced with a light, melodious laugh that hinted at an easy confidence.

“Yes,” Arizona replied, trying to mask her irritation and fatigue.

The woman chuckled softly, “Ethan mentioned you’d probably be working late. He said he’d take a shortcut to the docks to avoid any unwanted attention.”

Arizona’s weariness gave way to suspicion. “And you are?” she asked, her tone sharp and wary.

“I’m Lidia Hastings"

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