After I Left, the Port Boss Begged Me Back

The day I was formally appointed finance director of the Moretti Logistics branch, not one person in that office could manage a smile.

Ten minutes earlier, my phone and the phones of more than thirty coworkers had all received the same anonymous text.

"Old friends, given the recent rise in prices and the need to maintain absolute security throughout Port San Vito, the ‘security management fee’ for every establishment will rise by twenty percent starting next month. Regards, Carlo Rossi."

I stared at that line on the screen, my nails digging into my palm.

It was the fourth increase this year.

Every increase came exactly when our company paid bonuses, adjusted salaries, or landed a major contract.

David, the veteran employee seated diagonally across from me, slammed his mouse onto the desk. "I worked twenty straight night shifts last month and finally earned an extra five hundred dollars in bonus pay! This increase is the same as snatching that hard-earned money straight out of my pocket!"

"How is anyone supposed to work like this?" Beside me, Leah covered her face in despair. "Are we working for the company, or lining the pockets of those Rossi bloodsuckers?"

Everyone had reached the limit. Our branch had operated out of Port San Vito for two years. We endured the district's terrible security because Pier One was close enough to save half an hour on every run.

Dockworkers demanded a cut, trucks parked at the curb had to pay a protection fee, and even when we went downstairs for coffee, the owner would smile bitterly and say he had been charged per head.

As I watched line after line of net profit disappear into a so-called "community relations fee," I knew there had to be a mole inside the company.

I was still thinking about it when the glass door of the office was kicked open.

Carlo Rossi, a man in his fifties, walked in wearing an ill-fitting gray coat and smoking a cigarette. Three scruffy young thugs trailed behind him.

He ignored the employees glaring at him, planted his muddy leather shoe on the edge of the desk I had just cleaned, and let ash fall onto my financial statements.

"Good afternoon, Irene." Carlo made my new title sound like a joke. "I hear you've been promoted. Profits are up three percent this quarter. Congratulations."

"We received the text, Mr. Rossi." My voice was calmer than I expected. "But twenty percent is too much. Shipping is slow and fuel prices are rising. Another twenty percent would make the storage costs here impossible to cover."

"If you can't cover it, that's a problem with how you run your business." Carlo flicked his ash straight onto my keyboard. "Don't play poor with me, Irene. I know how much money your company has. This district is a ten-minute walk from customs and the container yard."

He leaned down until his tobacco-reeking face was inches from mine.

"I didn't come to negotiate. I only bothered coming in person because you've been tenants here for years.

"Either you pay the full increase next month without a fuss,

"or you get out of Port San Vito. Plenty of people are waiting to take over your warehouse space."

He was certain we would never dare leave. Relocating a logistics company was enormously expensive: we would have to reroute shipping contracts, refit a new site, and relocate employees. To most people, it would be a crippling undertaking.

I lowered my eyes to the disgusting pile of ash on my keyboard. I felt nothing.

"All right."