In Sweetwater, noble families carry on a legacy of unique powers, known as "sweets," passed down through bloodlines. These abilities, woven into the city's daily life, define status and influence. Among these families, the Graves were once a respect...
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I checked my email on my phone, but there was nothing yet from Mrs. Todd. It wasn't even noon, so that was to be expected. I had other options to explore. Clearly, Yuri wasn't going to help me this time. My next avenue of attack would be something I'd wanted to avoid: the gangs.
Gangs are a dime a dozen in this city. There are three balances of power at play in Sweetwater. The gangs could be considered the heart of the city. The brain would be the government and other higher city officials. Lastly, there are the nobles with their particular gifts they would be the lungs.
This city is run like a Jörmungandr, the mythical serpent eating its own tail—a cycle of power and corruption feeding itself endlessly. The gangs operate as the lifeblood of the streets, moving resources, goods, and information while carving out their territories. The government, often bloated with inefficiency and backdoor dealings, keeps the city limping along but never truly upright. And then there are the nobles—the elites with their "sweets," unique inherited abilities that they wield like tools of influence and fear. Together, these factions create a tenuous balance, one that can tip into chaos at the slightest provocation.
For now, my focus was on the gangs. While Yuri's icy warning was still fresh in my mind, the gangs held answers to questions that no one else could—or would—provide. Specifically, the Red Hand Brotherhood, whose fingers reached far deeper into Sweetwater's underworld than the public dared to admit. If Max Todd's murder was tied to something bigger, the Brotherhood was likely to know.
However, the Red Hand Brotherhood is just one piece of the puzzle. Expecting Yuri to spill secrets about her own gang was likely naïve—most members would keep their lips sealed, out of loyalty or fear. But what about their rivals? Other gangs might stand to gain from tarnishing the Brotherhood's reputation. Pursuing that route, however, comes with its own dangers. If any information I gather were to trace back to me, the Red Hands wouldn't hesitate to make me their next target. I'd need credible information too, with evidence to back up any claims.
The idea of approaching a rival gang was daunting for more than one reason. To them, I was a nobody—a lawyer with no reputation in their world, someone who could easily be mistaken for a Red Hand informant or, worse, a cop fishing for intel. Even getting close to them would require tact and a heavy dose of luck. Sweetwater's gangs didn't take kindly to outsiders poking their noses where they didn't belong, and they certainly didn't operate on goodwill.
Still, I couldn't afford to shy away from this. This case could be good for my reputation, and a nice payday if I properly defend Edward wouldn't hurt either. If there was a chance that the rival gangs had dirt on the Red Hands, I needed to find it. The challenge would be convincing them that I wasn't a threat—or figuring out how to get the information without their cooperation.
First, I needed to identify which rival gang had the most reason to hate the Red Hands. Sweetwater was teeming with factions, each vying for dominance, but not all of them were significant enough to stand against the Brotherhood. The Black Vultures came to mind. They controlled a smaller slice of the city, but their reputation for ruthlessness and cunning was well-earned. If anyone had reason to sabotage the Red Hands, it would be them.
