The Free Star cruise ship glided slowly into New York Harbor. Shane stood at the deck railing, eyes fixed on the Statue of Liberty, growing larger with every passing minute.
The morning mist lifted gradually, sunlight dancing across the rippling water. The pier below buzzed with activity: dockworkers hefted crates, porters maneuvered luggage, and customs officers moved briskly among the crowd.
Shane glanced at Mary, standing nervously with Mr. and Mrs. Parker, her hands clutching the small bag she had carried throughout the journey. Excitement and apprehension were written across her face.
At last, the ship docked, and the gangway clanged to the pier. Shane slung his canvas backpack over one shoulder, ready to merge into the flow of passengers disembarking.
"Shane Cassidy! Wait a moment!"
Shane turned. MacDonald, the ship's first mate, hurried down from the upper deck, holding a letter. His crisp uniform glinted in the morning light.
"MacDonald, sir?" Shane asked, surprised.
MacDonald pressed an envelope into his hand. "This is for you, lad. Take it—Hawke, Pier Supervisor of New York Harbor, is an old friend of mine. Show him this, and he can help you find work."
Shane examined the envelope. The words "To Mr. Hawke, Pier Supervisor, personally" were neatly scrawled across the kraft paper. He looked up at MacDonald, astonished.
"Take this as a chance, Shane. Don't waste it… and stay out of trouble," MacDonald said firmly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
A surge of warmth rushed through Shane's chest. "Thank you, sir! I… I won't forget this!"
MacDonald waved him off with a knowing smile and disappeared into the crowd. Shane murmured after him, "Good luck to you too, sir," before slipping the envelope safely into his backpack.
The customs inspection area was a tangle of temporary tents, queues snaking between poles and ropes. The air carried a mix of sweat, disinfectant, and the lingering tang of the sea. Passengers clutched their luggage nervously, eyes flicking between inspectors and fellow travelers.
Shane fell into line, scanning for Mary and the Parkers. They kept low profiles, whispering quietly among themselves. Mary occasionally glanced back, her nervous eyes meeting Shane's reassuring nod.
Shane's backpack contained neatly folded clothes, toiletries, a thin blanket, and hidden among them—three 750 ml bottles of whiskey, his final safeguard. He took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm.
The sun climbed higher, baking the tents with heat. Inspectors moved efficiently, their white coats and clipboards glinting in the sunlight. Soon, Mary and the Parkers passed their inspection, receiving nods and stamped documents.
Shane approached the counter. "Name?"
"Shane Cassidy."
"Nationality?"
"Irish."
"Purpose of coming to the U.S.?"
"To find work, sir."
"Criminal record?"
"No, sir."
An inspector gestured to his backpack. Shane's heart quickened, but he forced calm, setting the bag on the counter and slowly opening it.
The contents were orderly: folded clothes, a blanket, toiletries, worn shoes, and cleverly hidden pouches containing tools, a lunchbox, and a water bottle. The inspector examined the pouches with mild curiosity, then reached for the slightly wrinkled envelope.
His eyes flicked over the name "Hawke", and a subtle shift crossed his expression. He traced the raised wax seal with a fingertip, reading the name softly under his breath: "MacDonald…"
Shane kept his composure, hands steady at his sides. The inspector returned the envelope to its place, moved aside the books covering the whiskey, and closed the backpack.
"Documents are complete. Welcome to America, and good luck."
Relief flooded Shane. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, checked that his three bottles remained safely concealed, and stepped out into the bright New York sunlight. The city's hum rushed toward him—an unfamiliar, exhilarating rhythm.
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This chapter totally gave me young Vito Corleone vibes — that quiet moment when he first arrives in America, but you can already feel destiny lurking around the corner. Love that kind of energy!
- The God Father. 💰 🚬