A Requital of Gratitude

Chapter 4: Restitution and Revenge -Part 2

By Samuel

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In Chapter 4 of Requital of Gratitude, back at their Catskills hideout, Nick and his crew assemble the strategy for Operation Ultio while uncovering a $1.75 billion secret.

The next day back in New York, Nicholas and his inner circle met with the rest of the organization at their primary staging ground—a sprawling, disused warehouse deep in the Catskill Mountains, converted into a high-security operational hub. Nestled in a secluded valley off Route 28, the heavily fenced compound was guarded around the clock and accessible only by a single heavily monitored road.

Three weeks passed until the heat in Missouri died down. Once Nick confirmed the coast was clear, he dispatched Jack and Carlo to Kansas City. Their orders were simple: gauge the local police investigation and verify Aunt Nellie’s safety without drawing attention.

Jack and Carlo flew into Kansas City International, rented a nondescript sedan, and got to work. Carlo visited the Mary Usher Senior Living Home, posing at the front desk as Nellie’s cousin, “Nicky Boy,” visiting from Alabama. Recognizing the coded moniker, Nellie immediately instructed the staff to let him up.

By nightfall, Jack and Carlo were back in the Catskills delivering a glowing report.

“The police investigation has gone completely cold,” Carlo reported to the assembled room. “The descriptions from the motel staff were too generic to yield any real leads. And Aunt Nellie is thriving in her new flat. When she realized who sent me, she asked me to bring her blessings back to Nick and the boys.”

A quiet wave of relief washed through the room.

Nick stood up and looked at his men. “It’s been a long day, gentlemen. Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, we map out the next phase.”

At eight o’clock the following morning, the entire crew filed into the warehouse tactical room. A bitter winter wind whipped off the mountains, and even inside the unheated space, breath bloomed in white clouds. The men kept their heavy overcoats buttoned to their chins, hands jammed into deep pockets or encased in black lambskin-lined leather gloves.

Nicholas stepped up to the head of the long oak table, his presence immediately commanding silence.

“We move back into Kansas City with a larger force,” Nick began, his tone razor-sharp. “They didn’t catch on after the highway hit, but Dutchy will be paranoid now. We split into three separate strike teams and hit their vital operations simultaneously from three different directions. Give them no time to consolidate, react, or retaliate.”

He paused, looking across the sharp, eager faces before continuing.

“First order of business: Joel, you’re on motor pool oversight. I want three black sedans prepped, fully serviced, and mechanically flawless; no distinctive markings, no paper trails, spotless bodies. Team A takes the Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham—that’s my unit. Team B takes the Mercury Grand Marquis under Declan. Team C takes the Lincoln Town Car under Casey.”

Nick turned his focus to Rion and Keefe.

“Rion, Keefe—you two head Team D, our advance intelligence unit. You’ll choose four men to assist you. Your job is: target analysis, gear preparation, and mapping every attack and escape route. Communications will run strictly through encrypted tactical radios, with rolling daily frequency changes.”

He laid a hand flat on the map spread across the table.

“Team D moves out in ten days. You’ll set up your main base of operations in Olathe and book discreet hotel staging points for the rest of us—Manhattan, Kansas for Team A; Columbia, Missouri for Team B; and Junction City, Kansas for Team C. Choose quiet downtown establishments with immediate highway access. You hold a heavy responsibility on this one, boys.”

Rion and Keefe nodded in stoic agreement.

“That’s all for now,” Nick said, dismissing the room. “Detailed tactical assignments will follow once Team D finishes their forward recon. Carry on with your standard duties and get your personal gear in order.”

A week later, Rion and Keefe returned from their forward deployment. That Sunday evening, Nick called an impromptu meeting in the main hall.

Once the men were settled around the fireplace, Nick stepped forward with a faint, rare smile. “Welcome back, gentlemen. Before we dive into the battle plans for Operation Ultio, there is another matter we need to settle—something I’ve been orchestrating behind the scenes for a very long time.”

The men exchanged curious glances as Nick gestured toward a tall, slender man standing near the edge of the shadow.

“You all know Thomas Goad,” Nick said. “He’s been our head accountant since day one. Thomas doesn’t pull triggers—his gifts lie in numbers. Today, you’ll see just how valuable those gifts really are. Thomas, the floor is yours.”

Thomas stepped into the light; pale and lanky, with a thick mop of dark curls and piercing blue eyes, he carried a heavy stack of leather-bound ledgers and corporate folders, and placed them quietly on the center table.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Thomas said, his voice quiet but clear. “Most of you know me as the man who cuts your expense checks and manages bail funds. My main duty has always been to keep our ledgers clean and ensure capital is available. But years ago, Nicholas entrusted me with a secondary, highly confidential directive.”

Nick stepped beside him and crossed his arms. “Over the years, you’ve all heard me talk about going legitimate—building something lasting that would allow us to step out of the shadows and become tax-paying, respected citizens. Thanks to Thomas, that vision is no longer just a dream.”

Thomas rested his hand on the thick stack of files. “Five years ago, Nicholas authorized me to establish a blind holding company—a completely legitimate corporate entity with zero legal links to our street operations. Do you remember the pension compliance documents I had each of you sign a few years back?”

A murmur of agreement ran through the room as several men nodded.

“None of you read the fine print,” Thomas said with a subtle grin. “That document wasn’t a standard pension agreement. It legally assigned your dividend allocations into direct equity shares within the holding enterprise.”

The room grew dead silent.

“Through aggressive reinvestment, commercial property acquisitions, retail complexes, legal enterprise buyouts, and stock equity portfolios,” Thomas continued, reading directly from the audit sheet, “our legitimate holding company’s current portfolio is valued at one point seven five billion dollars.”

He looked up from the page, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. “Every single man in this room is a multi-millionaire in clean, legal capital.”

For three seconds, nobody moved. Then the room exploded.

Men leaped from their chairs, shouting in disbelief, slapping each other on the back, and exchanging fierce handshakes.

Declan slammed his fist onto the table, a booming laugh echoing through the hall. “Congratulations, Boss!” he roared, raising a hand toward Nicholas. “I salute you! You brought us through the fire and made us respectable, wealthy men. Three cheers for Nick!”

The hall erupted and roared cheers as the crew pressed forward to shake Nick’s hand.

Nicholas raised both hands, calling for quiet until the roar subsided to a low hum.

“Don’t thank me,” Nick said, gesturing toward the accountant. “I had the vision, but Thomas built the machine. He’s the architect of our future.”

Thomas smiled faintly and raised a hand. “We are a family, gentlemen—a band of misfits and toughs, but family nonetheless. You earned the blood money, and I used modern finance to clean it. Finish Operation Ultio, tear down Dutchy’s empire, and we can begin turning a crew of outlaws into pillar citizens.”

Laughter and applause rippled through the room once more.

“Enjoy the evening, gentlemen,” Nick announced, his eyes hardening with renewed focus. “Tomorrow morning at 0800, we assemble right here to plan the destruction of the Irish Blue Street Boys.”