Nick White

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Nick White || 28 April, 2025

Jake Carter squinted through the early-morning fog rolling in from Boston Harbor, his breath a ghostly plume in the November chill. Atlantic Towers loomed ahead, a skeletal frame of steel beams and concrete floors stretching defiantly into a murky sky. Jake’s boots scraped across gritty pavement, his worn orange and safety yellow medic bag swinging heavily against his hip as he approached the security gate.

“Morning, Carter,” muttered Carl, the grizzled security guard, barely glancing up from his newspaper.

“Morning,” Jake replied. He scanned his ID badge and stepped onto the bustling site, where cranes pivoted, and diesel engines coughed awake, belching clouds of smoke.

Jake wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t think of construction sites as places of dreams realized. For him, each girder, each rivet, was simply another accident waiting to happen.

He’d learned the hard way to anticipate tragedy.

Jake moved methodically through his morning routine, checking first-aid stations, confirming fire extinguisher dates, and logging inspections on a battered clipboard. Workers in reflective vests milled around, faces grimy, eyes tired from too many double shifts. He recognized most faces, knew their habits and quirks, noticed who limped slightly, who favored their backs, and who seemed edgy.

Mid-morning, Jake paused beside Luis Rivera, who leaned against a concrete barrier, his youthful face drawn with worry. Jake had known Luis for only six months—just another kid chasing a paycheck, sending money home to family in Puerto Rico.

“Jake,” Luis called quietly after noticing the medic. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Can we talk?”

Jake joined him, noticing Luis’s bruised knuckles. “Trouble?”

Luis hesitated, glancing sideways again. “Something happened at the union meeting last night. Alex—Alex Moreno—he spoke up. He said we’re under somebody’s thumb. Mob guys. He mentioned Tony’s name.”

Jake frowned. “Alex said that openly?”

Luis nodded quickly. “Yeah. He was loud about it. Real loud.”

Jake stiffened. Tony Morelli, the foreman, was old-school Boston—loud, charismatic, with eyes that could freeze your blood if you crossed him. He was the kind of guy Jake usually avoided antagonizing.

“I’ll keep an eye open,” Jake promised. “Watch yourself, Luis.”

Luis nodded solemnly, blending back into the crowd as if afraid to linger too long.

The rest of Jake’s morning dragged on, his unease building like pressure behind a dam. He’d seen plenty of accidents, but now, every stumble, every shout across the site felt charged with hidden menace. He found himself hyper-aware of Tony’s whereabouts, tracking the foreman’s movements out of the corner of his eye.

Near noon, a sharp scream pierced the air, shattering the day’s uneasy calm. Jake sprinted instinctively toward it, heart hammering with dread.

Workers clustered around Alex Moreno sprawled below scaffolding, twisted horribly on the concrete. Blood seeped beneath him, dark and thick.

Jake knelt quickly, immediately assessing Alex’s injuries. His eyes scanned the scene rapidly; the harness nearby had been cut—clean and deliberate. He met Alex’s desperate gaze, already dimming.

“Told them…truth…” Alex rasped weakly. “Tony…he—”

Alex’s voice trailed away, life slipping visibly from his eyes. Jake felt a wave of nausea.

Jake rose slowly as sirens wailed in the distance, paramedics too late to make a difference. Tony stood on the site’s edge, watching silently, his expression unreadable.

That evening, long after the site had emptied, Jake returned to the scene, compelled by suspicion. Carefully, methodically, he inspected every detail under the dim glow of his flashlight. Something flittered beneath the scaffolding—a small fragment of paper wedged into a joint. Carefully, Jake unfolded it: a partial blueprint with handwritten notes. Sub-level 4. No Access. Maintain silence.

His pulse quickened as he realized the implications. He glanced around the deserted site, sensing unseen eyes watching.

Hours later, in the darkness before dawn, guided by curiosity and gnawing suspicion, Jake slipped quietly past Carl at the security booth. The site was eerily silent now, machinery dormant and workers long gone. Behind construction debris near the loading docks, he uncovered an old freight elevator hidden beneath tarps and stacked lumber.

Heart racing, he stepped into the elevator, bypassing outdated security wires with practiced ease. The descent was slow, grinding, and ominous. The doors groaned open into pitch darkness.

Jake clicked on his flashlight, revealing neatly stacked crates of weapons—illegal, military-grade. His blood turned icy, realization hitting him hard.

A voice emerged from the darkness behind him, calm and deadly. “Should’ve stayed upstairs, Carter.”

Tony Morelli stepped forward, his gun casually pointed at Jake’s chest, his eyes cold and hard.

“Arms dealing?” Jake spat angrily.

“What’s it to you?” Tony said smoothly, then a cold smile crossed his lips. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. You saw what happened to Alex.”

Jake swallowed his fear. “You can’t silence everyone.”

Tony laughed dryly. “Don’t have to. Just the ones who make trouble.”

Jake lunged abruptly, knocking Tony’s weapon away and grappling fiercely. In the chaos, Jake managed to break free and stumbled desperately toward the elevator.

Reaching the surface, breathless and shaking, Jake bolted into the fading night. He didn’t stop until he reached his trailer, locking himself inside. He paced nervously, adrenaline surging through his veins, and his thoughts raced with possible next moves.

But before dawn fully broke, Tony found him again, cornering him near his trailer, quiet footsteps crunching on gravel.

“We got eyes everywhere, Jake,” Tony said quietly. “You’re either with us, or you’re another accident.”

Jake’s pulse pounded, trapped by Tony’s ruthless gaze. Defeated and knowing escape was impossible, Jake nodded silently.

Tony relaxed slightly. “Smart choice.”

Jake watched Tony disappear into the fog, heart heavy with compromise. Jake knew he was alive—but at a price higher than he’d ever intended to pay.