Carlton nodded. At the door, he paused. “The money from those wallets? It’s not for me. It’s a pension fund. Every driver, every look-out, every old sicario who kept their mouth shut for thirty years—they get paid. That’s what empire means, Dad. You take care of your own.”
Outside, Medellín glittered like a wound that had learned to shine. jack carlton reed pablo escobar
Jack felt the floor tilt. “You didn't. Tell me you didn't.” Carlton nodded
“I’m selling transportation . Pharmaceuticals, avocados, sometimes cocaine. The cocaine’s not the point.” Carlton stepped closer, voice dropping. “You spent ten years chasing Pablo because you thought he was evil. He wasn't evil. He was sloppy . He burned churches and shot politicians and made himself a target. I don’t do that. I file taxes. I donate to hospitals. I own the mayor of Bogotá’s brother-in-law’s consulting firm.” It’s not for me