Two days after his eting with Pablo, Doctor Klin was standing in his private clinic, preparing Veron's dication doses for the coming week.
His hands trembled slightly.
He took out a small vial from a locked drawer. A clear, odorless liquid. A slow, cumulative poison. It would not kill Veron imdiately. It would only make his body fail gradually. After four days from the first dose, his internal organs would begin to stop. Other doctors would search for a cause, but they would find nothing. An old, sick man who died naturally.
That was what Pablo had told him. That was what he was paid for.
He added the liquid to the dicine bottle and shook it well.
---
Hours later, Klin called the Den Den Mushi number that Pablo had left for him.
Pablo's voice was calm as usual.
"Done?"
"Done. I added the poison to his doses for the coming week. After four days, the symptoms will begin. And shortly after... he will die."
"Good."
"When will I get the rest of the money?"
"As we agreed, when he dies."
Pablo hung up.
Then he opened his small notebook.
He wrote: "The owner - four days."
He closed the notebook.
---
In his office in the juice section, Pablo gathered all the papers related to the factory.
Tom had brought him copies of the export records. Lorenzo had brought him the reception and production numbers. Ido had brought him the juice section reports.
He sat alone and began to calculate.
Quietly. Without rushing.
The factory's monthly inco: four and a half million Beli.
Four and a half million.
Fifty-four million annually.
Not a bad amount. But it was not enough.
This factory was just the beginning. A drop in the ocean.
He closed the papers and put them aside.
The factory would be his soon. But he would look for larger sources of inco.
---
Four days later, early in the morning, the Den Den Mushi rang.
Klin.
His voice was tense.
"It is done."
"What do you an, it is done?"
"Veron... will die today. Within hours. The symptoms began last night. The doctors do not understand what is happening. They say it is a natural complication of his illness."
Pablo paused for a second.
"Good."
"Where is my money?"
"Tomorrow. At the sa restaurant. After sunset."
"Why tomorrow? You paid a down paynt—"
"Because I have not finished what I need to do today." Pablo interrupted him. "Tomorrow. Eight o'clock."
He hung up.
Then he stood up.
---
In the evening, Pablo summoned two of the gang mbers.
They were the most loyal to Marco. The most daring. The most silent.
Arthur - the smart man he had sent to watch the doctor days ago. His face was ordinary, unremarkable. But his eyes captured everything.
Reynold - a silent man, large in build, who did not talk much. But he carried out what was asked of him without hesitation.
He did not ask them where they were going. He only said to them:
"Wear dark clothes. And wait for at the back exit of the factory."
Arthur and Reynold nodded. They did not ask.
---
Pablo left the factory and walked to the reception section where Vlad was still reviewing his papers.
The factory had closed an hour ago. The workers had left. Only the guards were there.
"Vlad."
The director raised his head. His glasses were on his nose, his face tired.
"Pablo? Why are you still here?"
"I have a problem. The last shipnt of fruit that arrived from the northern supplier... it has a lot of damage. I have never seen anything like this before."
Vlad frowned.
"What exactly is the problem?"
"I cannot explain it. You need to see for yourself. The carts are still at the eastern port. It will not take you more than half an hour."
Vlad looked at the clock.
"Now? At night?"
"This is the shipnt we will be working on tomorrow morning. If it is rotten, we will lose an entire day of production. And you know what that ans for the numbers."
Vlad hesitated. He was tired. He wanted to go ho.
But numbers were his weakness.
"Alright. Let's go. But quickly."
Pablo smiled inwardly.
---
Vlad walked behind Pablo. They left the factory through the back door.
Arthur and Reynold were waiting there.
Vlad looked at them. He did not ask. He thought they were ordinary guards.
They all walked toward the eastern port.
The road was dark. No one was on the streets at this hour.
Vlad talked the whole ti. Complaining about suppliers, about pressure, about lack of sleep.
Pablo listened. He did not reply.
They arrived at the edge of the port. The place was completely empty. Small ships were docked by the pier. No one.
Vlad stopped.
"Where are the carts?"
Pablo pointed toward a distant pier.
"There. Co."
Vlad walked behind him.
Then Pablo stopped suddenly.
"Vlad. I am sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
Pablo turned quickly. The small pistol was in his hand.
One shot. In Vlad's chest.
Vlad did not scream. No one heard the shot in the empty place.
He fell to his knees. He looked at Pablo with unbelieving eyes.
"Why..."
Pablo did not reply.
A second shot. To the head.
Vlad fell on his face. He did not move.
Complete silence.
Arthur and Reynold looked at the body. Then at Pablo.
Pablo put the pistol inside his clothes.
"Tie him to a rock. And take him to the boat."
They worked without speaking.
---
Arthur found a large rock on the pier. Reynold brought a rope from the small boat docked there.
They tied the body to the rock tightly.
They carried it together to the boat.
Pablo sat at the front of the boat. He did not row. He just looked ahead.
Arthur and Reynold rowed quietly. Away from the shore. Away from the lights.
After ten minutes, they stopped.
The water was deeper here. Darkness covered everything.
They lifted the body with the rock to the edge of the boat.
"Now." Pablo said quietly.
They rolled it into the water.
The sound of impact was heard. Then bubbles. Then nothing.
The body sank to the bottom. The fish would do the rest.
Arthur and Reynold stood for a mont. Looking at the water. Neither said anything.
"Return." Pablo said.
They turned the boat and went back to the port.
---
At the headquarters, after midnight, Pablo sat alone in his room on the upper floor.
He opened his small notebook.
He crossed out Vlad's na.
And crossed out Veron's na (to be completed within hours).
He wrote:
"The factory is now mine."
He closed the notebook and placed it on the table.
The small pistol was beside him.
Money, weapons, the gang, the factory.
Everything was going as planned.
But he did not smile.
This was only the beginning.
Four and a half million a month from this factory. Good. But not enough.
He looked out the window at the distant lights of Naraka.
"From now on... the real work begins."
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