Don Jacob Sanchez gripped the handles of his walker with trembling hands as he shuffled slowly across the room toward his chair. The years hadn't been kind, but the old man still carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had once held a ring in the crime syndicate - one of the few who still commanded respect even in old age. He glanced up briefly as his son Anthony entered the room, the faint light catching the deep lines etched into his face. “¿Está todo arreglado?” Don Jacob asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yes, Papa. Helena handled it personally. The shipments are now on the right track.” Anthony crossed the room quickly and slipped a steadying hand under his father’s arm, guiding him the final few steps into the chair. “Here, let me help you.” Once Don Jacob was settled, he exhaled slowly and studied his son for a long moment. “When the riots forced us to flee…when I had you, your brother, and Don smuggled out of the country to France, I thought it was for the best. I trusted my friends to keep you boys safe while I was arrested. I never imagined it would change everything.” His gaze grew distant, the memory of his wife’s death during those chaotic days still sharp after all these years. “You two had to take on aliases to survive. I warned you it was risky for you to choose the surname ‘Rodriguez.’ I understood why you did it - to honor your mother’s memory - but I still believed Anton had been the smarter one. He picked a name with no connection to our family, no trail that could lead back to us. I never would’ve thought my own son becoming a ‘Westbrooke’ would eventually make him a stranger to me.” Don Jacob’s voice hardened with quiet disappointment. “Had he always had so little faith in me?” Anthony’s jaw tightened as he took the chair next to his father’s. “Anton is and always will be an opportunistic bastard,” he said without hesitation. “Even when we were boys in France, he was already looking for the next angle, the next advantage. That hasn’t changed.” Don Jacob leaned back in the chair, his frown deepening as the weight of betrayal settled over him. “To so easily offer up his own daughter - my granddaughter - as a sacrifice…” He shook his head slowly, the movement heavy with sorrow and anger. “After everything we endured together. Even though I passed the ring to you instead of him following our falling out…I thought blood would still mean something.” “He may feel he has nothing left to lose now, Papa,” Anthony replied, his tone measured but cold. “Word is Binky is reconsidering their deal.” “Hmm.” Don Jacob’s eyes narrowed, the old calculating glint returning to them despite his frailty. “I think I’ll pay Binky a visit tomorrow. It’s been too long since we spoke face to face.”

“I’ll make the arrangements right away,” Anthony said, nodding. “Should I come with you?”

Don Jacob shook his head firmly. “No. Some things are meant to be kept between old friends. This one…I’ll handle alone.”