Page 8 of Corrupt
Moreover, they did this multiple times—raking in millions, which they stupidly spent back home somewhere in the Midwest. From farm boys to crashing Ferraris and buying anything and everything they could get their hands on.
They broke the golden rule to never draw attention. To not let superficial garbage define you.
“What and when?” Jason surprises me by opening his mouth for the first time since my arrival. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are on his phone as he taps away at the screen. “Any specific date you—” I clear my throat and his eyes snap up to mine, the expression on my face making him flip the device in his hand around quickly. In the background, I hear his low sorry but I’m reading the notes being made on the notation app; the breakdown of what could be needed and timeframes where certain networks are dormant and can be bypassed. Smart kid, but still mierda for etiquette.
“I need five bank accounts emptied, leaving behind only a single penny in each.” At my words, they look at each other for a brief moment—just a quick flick of the eyes—and then nod in acceptance. “There’s also the matter of an encrypted message I’d like left behind for the owner when he attempts to log in.”
“Anything.”
“Done,” they say in unison, Jason being the latter. He’s still adding to his notes, fingers a blur over the screen. “Can we ask whom and what?”
Second mistake.
Never ask questions. Wait until the information is provided.
“No. You can’t.”
“Sir, we mean—”
“How do you feel about corrupt governments in general?” I interject, cutting him off instead. Bringing the drink to my lips, I take a sip and then another, downing the shot and placing the glass atop the table. The anise taste is crisp, settling into a slow burn as it spreads, and I let the question hang in the air between us for a full minute.
The immediate disdain on their faces is enough of a tell.
Shawn speaks up first, his expression full of unresolved ire. “I’m an anarchist, Mr. Lucas. Fuck them all.”
Jason nods in acquiescence, first-bumping his friend before placing his phone screen up beside his glass of water. “While my views aren’t as extreme, I agree with how much greed and corruption have taken control of governments across the globe. Politicians no longer work for the people who vote them into office, but for millionaire donors and their private agendas.”
Right answer.
“Then you’ll have no problem playing the role of Robin Hood for me.” At my words, Daniel snickers across from me, but quickly hides it behind a sip or two of liquor. “Take from the rich to feed the poor.”
“None whatsoever.” Again in unison. They remind me of two bumbling idiots I once knew and are dead now.
“Good. Then you start tomorrow.” They look like they want more information, better instructions, but I snap my fingers and Geronimo comes right over with a nondescript folder in his hand. Shawn and Jason shrink back as he towers over the table but are smart enough to take the file without prompting. “Everything you need is in there, gentlemen. I expect to see progress by the end of the week.”
“Sir, I’m—”
“Bosdell, this is your cue to leave. Take it and don’t push your luck.” At my words, they stand and after giving me a pussy-looking bow, leave the room.
Moreover, if it weren’t for how good they are at what they do, they’d be dead already. There is more to their moronic antics than they think I know. Like the fact that each stole three hundred grand from an associate in Cali.
Money that was ultimately mine.
My eyes shift to one of my men standing next to Geronimo, and he leaves after my nod. He’ll be watching them. They’re not allowed out of his sight.
“Well, that was entertaining, to say the least,” Daniel says, leaning over to grab the bottle of Aguardiente this time to pour us each another shot. He’s forgoing his usual drink, so I know the man is right at the cusp of lit and hungry. Could out eat anyone I know when drunk. “The skinny one almost shit himself. Another glare from you and he would’ve had an accident.”
“That’s disgusting.” I take the offered drink and let the clear liquid swish lightly around the edge of the glass before taking another sip. “And the truth. No backbone or self-preservation on either of them.”
Because fear doesn’t equate to awareness, not when the person you’re making a deal with is someone you owe money to.
I own Cali. Barranquilla. Medellin. Every single inch of this country works for me, something that the pieces of shit holding the presidential office will learn soon enough.
It’s taken me years to get where I am, and not by luck. Blood. Sweat. Death.
After my father’s sentencing, things changed for us. Our lives were turned upside down, and working became my number one priority. To maintain my family and bounce back. To be able to afford a one-bedroom home in one of the poorest neighborhoods of the country while simultaneously sending whatever we could to our father in jail.
For food.