“I like to think my name holds a lot more weight in Boston than yours,” he says. “It doesn’t.” His face reddens, irritation spiking with every new word that falls from my lips. “At one time, sure. But then you got sloppy, and now your main source of power comes from alliances.” “Watch it, Anderson.” Wagging his finger in my direction, he sits forward, the metaphoric hackles on the back of his neck rising with his anger. “You’re treading a very thin line between the truth and disrespect here, son.” Internally recoiling at the nickname, I shrug again, unbothered by his intimidation tactics. You
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