Page 67 of Carnival Master

TYSON

Iburst into the office trailer, my jaw clenching as I spot Duke’s weathered face on the security feed. He moves purposefully through our storage area at 2 AM, leading Jimmy’s men straight to our most vulnerable spots.

“Fucking hell.” My fists curl at my sides. “He knows every inch of this place.”

Phoenix nods, rewinding the footage. “Three hours they were here. Duke showed them all the hiding spots and helped them plant the evidence in the main storage unit. They didn’t put anything in the other units, so you don’t need to continue. They cleared out before anyone stirred.”

The betrayal burns in my chest. Duke’s been with the carnival more than anyone. But I’d seen the resentment in his eyes when Gary handed me the reins instead of him. The sideways glances, the subtle challenges to my authority.

“Pull up his movements for the past two weeks,” Iorder, leaning over Phoenix’s shoulder. “I want to know every contact he’s had with Jimmy’s people.”

More footage rolls across the screens—Duke in conversations by the Ferris wheel, accepting thick envelopes, pointing out our security cameras. The old bastard’s been plotting this.

“He’s in his usual spot,” Phoenix says, switching to a live feed. “Working on the Ferris wheel controls.”

My blood boils as Duke tinkers with the machinery, probably planning his next betrayal. After everything Gary taught us about loyalty about family—Duke threw it all away because his ego couldn’t handle being passed over.

“Get Lars,” I growl. “Tell him to bring Duke here. Quietly.”

Phoenix’s fingers fly across his keyboard. “What about the cops? They’ll be here in six hours.”

“First things first.” I straighten up, cold rage settling in my bones. “Duke needs to learn what happens to rats in this family.”

I stand behind my desk as Lars shoves Duke into my trailer, Phoenix trailing behind them. Duke’s weathered face shows confusion, but a flicker of fear in his eyes tells me he knows exactly why he’s here. Lars’s murderous glare confirms my suspicions - he’s figured it out, too.

“Have a seat, Duke.” I gesture to the chair in front of my desk, keeping my voice steady and calm. “We need to discuss something important.”

Duke settles into the chair, his hands gripping the armrests. “What’s this about, Tyson?”

Phoenix pulls up a video on his monitor and turns itto face him. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m looking at here?” The footage shows him leading Jimmy’s men through our storage area, pointing out hiding spots.

His face drains of color as he watches himself betray us. The confident facade cracks, replaced by naked fear.

“Interesting viewing, isn’t it?” I lean forward, placing my hands on the desk. “Twenty-seven years with this carnival, Duke. Twenty-seven years of trust, of family. And you threw it all away because Gary chose me instead of you ten fucking years ago.”

Duke’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“You want to know what we found this morning?” I continue. “Thirty-eight bricks of cocaine, planted exactly where you showed Jimmy’s men to put them. The cops are coming in a few hours, thanks to your new friend Jimmy.”

Lars steps closer, his presence looming over Duke’s shoulder. The old man shrinks in his chair.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” I say. “You’re going to tell me everything. Every conversation with Jimmy, every detail you shared, every penny he paid you. And maybe I’ll make it quick when we’re done with you.”

Duke’s face crumples. “Please, Tyson. I can explain?—”

The sharp crack of Lars’s palm against Duke’s cheek cuts through his pleading.

“Pull it together,” Lars snarls. “Traitors don’t get mercy.”

I watch Duke’s shoulders shake as tears stream downhis face. After all our years together, the sight should move me and stir some emotion, but I feel nothing except cold purpose.

“Stand up,” I order, my voice steady.

Duke stumbles to his feet. “I’ll do anything. Please, I?—”

“You had your chance to be loyal,” I cut him off. “Now you pay the price.”

I grab his arm and guide him toward the door, maintaining a firm but measured grip.

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