Money
The car moved through the city, tinted windows blocking out the world, but I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going.
My eyes were locked on the feeds. The monitors glowed in the backseat's darkness. I’d been watching Solei for twenty minutes through the surveillance Tip was feeding. His car was parked across the street.
Solei sat in Kyesha’s kitchen, eating. The camera caught her profile perfectly–the curve of her neck, the movement of her hand as she talked, the slight smile on her lips. Fuck. I missed her lips.
I leaned back in the leather seat, loosened my tie with one hand, and held a glass of whiskey in the other. The ice clinked as I sipped, never looking away from the screens.
On the screen, Solei laughed at something Kyesha said, her head tilting back, and I felt that familiar pull in my chest. The same pull I’d felt the first time I saw her.
The same pull that made me willing to burn the entire fucking city down if it meant keeping her.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message.
I watched the feed as her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, read the message, and her entire body went still. Her eyes darted around the kitchen to the windows, the corners, and anywhere a camera might be hidden.
She didn’t respond to the text, though. She just set the phone down and took a long drink of her wine. Kyesha said something, probably asking if she was okay. Solei nodded, forced a smile, and changed the subject. But her hand was shaking slightly.
“We’ve arrived, boss.” My driver, Ralphie, spoke in a calm, professional voice.
I glanced up from the monitors, finally looking outside. We parked before a warehouse in the industrial district. I drained my whiskey, set the glass in the cupholder, and took one last look at the screens–Junior and Solina ran into the kitchen with Kyesha’s son, excited to eat.
I closed the monitors and straightened my tie. Buttoning my suit jacket, I stepped out of the car to see Check waiting by the entrance with Tip beside him. Both of them looked ready to kill on command and sleep afterward. “Everything ready?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Check’s voice was flat. “Everyone's inside waiting on you.”
“Good.”
I walked past them into the warehouse, and they fell into step behind me. The main floor was empty, just concrete and shadows and the distant drip of water from a leaking pipe. We descended a staircase hidden behind a false wall, down into the basement where the real business happened.
The room was large, dimly lit by overhead fluorescents that hummed with a low, persistent buzz.
A long metal table dominated the center, surrounded by my crew of soldiers.
They all looked up when I walked in. I took my seat at the head of the table and leaned back, my fingers steepled in front of me. “Let’s get started,” I said.
Cortez, sitting to my right, opened a leather portfolio and pulled out a stack of papers. “Richardson situation first.” His voice was gravelly. I leaned forward slightly. “Word got back about him coppin’ to a plea deal. Fifteen years.”
“What else?”
Hassan leaned forward, confident. “We’re up eighteen percent from last quarter.
Movin’ a hundred and sixty keys per month, primarily through fraternity networks and off-campus housin’.
Average street price is holdin’ at eight thousand per key because the clientele’s willin’ to pay for convenience and quality. ”
“Attention?”
“Minimal, thanks to our contact with campus security and EHPD. We keep deals off-campus, so everything happens at parties, apartments, and bars.”
I turned to Yuka and asked, “And the competition?”
His expression darkened slightly. “We’ve got some small-time niggas tryin’ to undercut us by sellin’ cheaper product and lower quality. They’re targetin’ freshman dorms and tryin’ to build a customer base before we can lock them in.”
Slightly tugging on my beard, I asked, “How much are they movin’?”
“Maybe twenty, thirty keys a month. Not enough to hurt us, but enough to be annoyin’.”
Tip cleared his throat. “You wanna absorb them or eliminate them?"
“Absorb,” Hassan said immediately. “They got distribution channels that we don’t like, direct access to dorms, and relationships with RAs who look the other way. If we bring them in and give them a cut, we expand our reach without the risk.”
“Make the offer,” I said. “But make it clear it’s a one-time offer. They take it, or they’re fuckin’ done.”
“Understood.” Yuka and Hassan responded together.
I shifted my attention to Check, who’d taken a seat to my left. “Launderin’ operations. Walk me through the recent numbers.”
Check pulled out his phone and scrolled through encrypted files.
“The Palace is cleanin’ about four hundred thousand a week.
Friday and Saturday nights are peak with the bottle service, VIP tables, and cover charges.
We’re runnin’ everything through the POS system, inflatin’ sales numbers, and payin’ taxes on it.
Everything looks completely legitimate.”
“Bet. And the margins?”
“After operational costs, staff, liquor licenses, and taxes, we’re nettin’ about seventy percent. It’s not the most efficient wash, but it’s bulletproof. The IRS audit came back clean.”
“Barbershops?” I inquired, turning to Tip.
“Eastside locations are movin’ about a hundred and twenty thousand a week combined. Haircuts, product sales, and tips. Cash-heavy. We’re bookin’ fake appointments, inflatin’ customer counts, and runnin’ it through payroll. Everything’s completely clean on paper.”
“And what’s the word on the new real estate?”
Worm’s expression shifted slightly. “We acquired four properties in the last six months. Two apartment complexes in the Northside, one strip mall near the beach, and a commercial buildin’ downtown. Total investment is twelve million.”
I raised an eyebrow as I watched him break a sweat. “I need that breakdown.”
“The apartment complexes generate about eighty thousand a month in legitimate rental income, but we’re bookin’ an additional two hundred thousand in ‘maintenance fees’ and ‘property management costs’ that don’t exist. We’re washin’ half a million a month through that property alone, boss.”
“And what about the tax implications?”
Check spoke up. “We’re payin’ property taxes, income taxes and payroll taxes and everything by the book.
The properties appreciate in value, we build equity, and we’ve got a legitimate revenue stream that justifies our lifestyle.
If anyone looks, they see a successful real estate investor and nothing else. ”
I nodded slowly. This was the endgame. The transition from street-level distribution to legitimate wealth. The kind of wealth that couldn’t be seized, traced, or touched. “Good. Good.” I looked around the table. “Anything else? Lowe, how’s the new baby?”
Lowe shifted in his seat, his expression darkening. “Everything’s good, boss, but… uh, there’s an issue I need to bring forth.” The room went quiet. “Worm’s been skimmin’.”
I let my eyes drift to Worm, whose face had gone pale. I watched him wipe the sweat that beaded on his forehead. “Is that right?” I asked quietly.
Worm opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for an exit that didn’t exist. “I can explain, Money.”
“I asked you a question. You’ve been skimmin’ my shit?”
“It wasn’t… I mean, I was gonna pay it back. My girl needs this operation and…”
“How much?”
“Thirty... maybe forty thousand over three months. But I was gonna…”
“Forty thousand dollars.” I let the words hang in the air. “And how much product?”
“I don’t kn…”
“Take a fuckin’ guess."
“Fifty keys,” he gulped. “But I moved it and got the money. I just needed time to…”
“To what? Steal more?”
“No! I swear, I was gonna make shit right!”
“You were gonna make it right.” I chuckled, leaning back slightly.
“I fuckin’ swear I was try…”
“Check.”
Check moved before Worm could finish. He grabbed Worm’s head and slammed it into the table three times. Bone struck metal; blood splattered as Worm screamed. Check yanked him up–nose shattered, blood pouring, eyes wide in terror.
“Please,” he choked out. “Please, I’m sor…”
Check slammed his head down again and again. I watched without expression. This shit wasn't personal. This was business. You steal from me, you pay the price. Simple as that.
“Tip,” I called out.
Tip stepped forward, pulling a knife from his belt. He grabbed Worm’s hand and looked at me. I nodded, and the blade came down. Worm’s scream was high and piercing as Tip severed his pinky finger in one clean cut. The finger rolled across the table, leaving a trail of blood.
“That’s for the first ten thousand,” I said calmly. “Want me to keep goin’ or you got somethin’ else to say?”
“Please!” Worm sobbed, snot running from his nose and his whole body shaking. “I’ll do anything!!!”
“You know what? I don’t think a pinky is justice enough,” I said, standing up slowly. I walked around the table toward him, my footsteps echoing in the silent room. “You gotta pay the full price, and everyone in this fuckin’ room will remember what happens when you steal from me.”
“No, please! My family!”
“Should’ve thought about those muthafuckas before you stole from me.”
I nodded to Check, who pulled his gun and put it to the back of Worm’s head. The shot was loud in the enclosed space. His body slumped forward, blood pooling on the table, and I stepped back to avoid getting any on my shoes. I looked around the room, meeting every pair of eyes.
“Anyone else have issues they need to bring up?” Silence. “Good.” I straightened my tie. “Lowe, you’re absorbing Worm’s real estate. I want a full report in seventy-two hours.”
“Gotchu, boss.”
“Everyone else, same as always. Move product, collect money, and don’t fuck with what’s mine.
” I paused as nods came from all around.
“We’re done.” I walked out the room and Check followed, leaving Tip to oversee the cleaning up of Worm’s body.
I had to get back to keeping tabs on my fucking runaway wife.