The air in New Orleans was a thick, wet blanket, heavy with the scent of jasmine, decay, and distant rain. It was a city that breathed, a living, sweating entity that clung to the past with a tenacity Jonah had never experienced. He walked a half-step behind Julian Clarkson, the cacophony of the French Quarter—the wail of a trumpet, the laughter from a balcony, the sizzle of grease from a beignet stand—seeming to part around his employer like water around a stone.Clarkson was different here. The change was subtle, a shift in frequency only someone who had spent months studying his every micro-expression might notice. In New York, his energy was a focused laser, cutting through the noise of the city with impatient precision. Here, it was diffuse, a low-grade hum of tension. He was not commanding the environment; he was enduring it.They were for a two-day whirlwind: the potential acquisition of a family-owned shipping company that controlled key port access on the Mississippi. It shou
Last Updated : 2025-09-06 Read more