Jack Carlton Reed Pablo | Escobar [exclusive]

Silence stretched between them, thick as cordite.

The rain hammered harder. Jack’s hand drifted toward the holster under his jacket—old habit. “You’re selling poison to kids.” jack carlton reed pablo escobar

The rain over Medellín had a way of washing everything clean—blood, ash, memory. But not this night. Silence stretched between them, thick as cordite

“I’ve had thirty years to rehearse it. You were gone for most of them, remember? Chasing ghosts in the jungle. Mom died alone. I raised myself on your stories about Escobar. Not the killing—the structure . The way one man could hold a country in his palm.” Carlton’s voice cracked, just once. “You wanted to bring down a monster. I wanted to become the thing that monsters are afraid of.” “You’re selling poison to kids

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.

Carlton Reed was not.

“You found the wallet,” Carlton said.