Blood Sisters

(5) - Next In Line

"Now, what are you saying? You must be lying," I laughed, but Cash wore a serious expression, making me massage my temples.

Grabbing the bottle, I opened it, and he quickly took it from me.

"Don't make me reconsider."

I jumped up and sat on the kitchen counter, cross-legged. "Why me? We come from two different worlds. You're a distributor, and I'm a drug dealer. Two different things."

I was proven completely right. Cash wasn't just a distributor confined to South Florida; he had control over three states. He was operating at the top of his game, catering to individuals like me, while living a luxurious lifestyle on his own private island, smoking cigars and basking in opulence. And there I was, a struggling drug dealer, barely given the chance to sell drugs due to the prejudice against women in this business. But I defied expectations and proved those people wrong. I started with a small weed operation through a connection in Ohio, and my name spread through the streets, catching Cash's attention. He didn't contact me directly; it only took a phone call from his assistant.

"You have the potential, it's not as difficult as you think," Cash assured me.

"But what about the risk of facing serious charges? I just got out of prison two days ago, Cash. The last thing I want is to go back," I responded, expressing my concerns.

"And now I'm facing trial for a triple that I didn't commit. The government has no clue about my business, but with proper guidance and your help, I can at least find solace in knowing that it's in good hands," I grumbled, exasperated, and rolled my eyes while Cash flashed a smile.

"Alright, but what's been happening with your business that you need me?" I inquired, trying to understand the situation.

"When you went to prison, I lost a significant number of customers. Then this new distributor called Ocean suddenly emerged, and everything started going downhill. Workers started quitting, and it became a mess," Cash explained, taking a hit of the Hennessey as he sat next to me on the kitchen counter.

I had never heard of someone named Ocean before, which indicated that he was likely making a name for himself in the industry.

Observing Cash's demeanor, it was clear that he was genuinely upset and angry. It dawned on me that this business was everything to him.

"But you have two other states to fall back on. Why are you so concerned about this one?" I questioned, genuinely curious, and he chuckled.

"This is where the majority of my earnings come from," he replied.

"And how do you know that?" I probed further, only to be met with silence. Disappointment washed over me, and I shook my head.

"So, you don't even know how much money you're making from each of these places? Clearly, we need to make some changes," I stated firmly, realizing the importance of implementing better financial management in his operation.

He turned to me and asked, "And how much money did you make the last time you were out there?"

"Five hundred thousand in a bank and two million stashed away in a safe that is most likely in police evidence right now," I groaned, feeling the weight of my hard-earned money vanishing into thin air.

"What makes you think the police have your money?" he inquired, capturing my attention. It was a topic that hit close to home since it involved my finances—the thousands of dollars I had earned through my own hustle.

He poured me a shot and continued, "The police are like a business of their own, just with more rules and regulations. But that doesn't mean they don't find loopholes. You know as well as I do that when a substantial amount of money is confiscated, they're not going to just keep it in evidence. To a police officer who makes maybe fifty thousand dollars a year, stumbling upon that kind of money is a jackpot worth saving, unless they have a partnership with someone. The same goes for guns."