Jack Carlton Reed Pablo Escobar [new] -

His own son.

“You found the wallet,” Carlton said.

Finally, Jack drew his hand away from the holster. Not because he’d changed his mind—but because he knew, with the terrible clarity of a man who had seen too much, that his son was right about one thing. jack carlton reed pablo escobar

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.”

Jack laughed—a dry, broken sound. “You rehearsed that speech.” His own son

That should have been the end.

The door clicked shut.

Outside, Medellín glittered like a wound that had learned to shine.