The Cartel Lawyer by Dave Daren (ebook reader below 3000 TXT) 📕

if he’d been any taller he wouldn’t have been able to see out of the window. He had wavy black hair that reached his shoulders, though half of it was pulled up into a bun. Even with his back to me, I could tell the guy had a thick layer of muscle underneath his sharp black suit.

“Mr. Torres, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the giant said as he turned toward me with a small smirk on his lips.

His eyes were such a dark shade of brown that they were almost black, and I could see the tattoos on his neck that peeked over the edge of his collar.

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied as my mother’s politeness training kicked in.

“Diego raved about how you were able to get his charges dropped,” Cruz replied. “Impressive.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cruz,” I said as I pushed aside the image of the company vice-president working as a hitman in his spare time.

“Please, call me Alvaro,” he said as he gestured to one of the metal and black leather chairs for guests and then sat in his high back leather office chair.

“Alvaro,” I repeated as I sat down and put my briefcase on the floor next to me. “I understand you have some side work that you’d like me to do for you?”

“We would actually like to offer you a full-time position as our lawyer,” the dark-eyed man said.

Despite the pleasantly soft tone, there was something in the voice that sounded more like a threat than an offer. The small smirk he still wore didn’t help, either, and I was pondering the fastest escape route when I finally realized what he’d said.

“Your lawyer?” I asked. “Don’t you already have one?”

I glanced around the office again. There were ledgers on a bookshelf in one corner, and stacks of paper waiting to be filed. There was even a whiteboard next to the door with the names of various ships and their current locations. It all looked like it had been there for years, so surely they already had their own in-house counsel.

“Here’s our offer,” the vice-president responded as he handed me a piece of paper and ignored my question.

I glanced over the sheet of paper, which was mostly cut and paste boilerplate interspersed with enough typos to make me think that someone had put the offer together not long before my arrival. The offer was for three-hundred-thousand dollars a year, and stipulated that Fuentes Shipping would be my sole client for the duration of my service. There wasn’t an end date on the contract, and I had the feeling that if I signed with them that I would be with them until I retired or was retired. Or ran off to Mexico like I imagined the previous attorney had.

Every terrible crime drama flashed through my mind as I read over the contract and tried to ignore the looming figure across the desk from me. Shipyards were always notorious homes for crime lords, drugs, and sex trafficking, and just about every other crime known to man. And for every legitimate shipping company, there were a dozen small-time operations that were fronts for the cartels.

I looked up for a moment, and my gaze landed on the ships moored on the docks below. It was an impressive operation and not just some fly-by-night company that would vanish at the first sign of trouble. But why offer me so much money? I stared at the contract again as I tried to make sense of the situation.

“This is a very generous offer,” I said after the third time I had read the figure.

It was definitely enough for any medical bills that my mom might have during her treatment, but I was still hesitant to accept it. I knew nothing about the company, and I’d honestly thought I was just picking up some extra cash on the side by coming here. Besides, what kind of legal career could I build if I worked for a shipping company? It’s not like I would become a partner, even if they did pay me like one.

“We want our employees to be taken care of,” Alvaro replied as he clasped his massive hands on the desk in front of him.

I could hear the men below as they shouted more instructions and then a large crash that was followed by a string of curse words that echoed off of the cement floor and walls.

“Excuse me,” the large man said as he stood in one fluid movement, walked around his desk, opened the door, and stepped across the walkway to the railing.

I twisted in my seat to watch the giant man as he grabbed the railing and then looked down toward his men. The shouts died down like someone had turned off a faucet, and the silence that took its place was so loud that my ears rang with the lack of noise.

“Sorry, sir,” someone shouted up, and I could almost hear the fear in his voice as Alvaro glared down.

“What broke?” the vice-president’s soft voice asked in what I was sure was a warning.

“Just the crate, sir,” another man answered. “Th-the cushion inside kept everything safe.”

“We’ll be more careful,” the first man added.

The dark-haired man bobbed his head once, which sent his wavy locks over his shoulders, and then he turned his attention back to me without having said more than two words to his employees. He still wore a smirk, but there was a sharp edge to it that made my heart race and my palms sweat like he had just threatened to rip my head off.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Alvaro sighed as he walked back around his desk.

He’d left the door open, and I once again considered leaving and not looking back. But that three-hundred-thousand kept me in my seat.

“It’s fine,” I