“Hey…” A woman’s voice responded.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t recognize my voice anymore?” she asked.
It was Draya, Tyran’s sister and my ex. “What’s going on? Where’s Ty?” I asked.
I heard her sniffle as she was about to respond to me. “Ty…” Her voice cracked.
“What is it?”
“He OD’d last night. I saw that you called and texted him this morning…”
“Wait what?”
“Last time we spoke was yesterday. He told me that we were about to finally be rich. And he went out to party. Snorted some tainted coke and overdosed…” she cried.
“FUCK!” I barked.
I hated that he died. I really did. I felt bad for his family. And it hurt me because he was a good friend of mine. But he was also my only access to my fuckin’ money.
“Cannon?” Draya called my name.
I’d be an asshole if I probed about the money but as far as I knew, he hadn’t told anyone about it. We both vowed to keep it under wraps until we got our cash. I didn’t want any of the niggas I worked with and for to know I had this kind of money.
I wanted to raise that nigga from the dead, and kill his ass all over again for overdosing.
“What did he take?” I asked.
“His coke was laced with fentanyl, they think. We haven’t done the official autopsy,” she confided.
“Aight. I’ll come out there to see you soon.”
“Cannon?”
“What?”
“I’m glad you’re out. My brother really respected you and was upset when you went away. You gave him confidence.”
I ain’t wanna hear that shit. He died with the keys to our money. But maybe all wasn’t lost. When things died down, I’d ask Draya if I could go through his office or home to see if I could find his password. Maybe he had it written down.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry for your loss. I gotta handle something but I’ll come see you in a few days.”
My blood was fuckin’ boiling and I was beyond pissed. Knowing that I was coming into that money was one of the only things keeping me going while I was locked away. I went in for some bullshit but I knew that when I came home, I could start over fresh.
Now, I really had to get a fuckin’ job. Fuck!
I pulled in front of a no-name bar in Harlem. It was one of those spots that received working men who were working second and third shifts. They would be too tired to start some shit.
Perfect.
I walked in and sat at the bar. “Henny with ice,” I ordered.
He poured it without a word.
I sipped, then sat in silence. Bitcoin boomed over the last five years since I was away. I put in about three million dollars. Damn near every dime I earned. The goal was to hide it from the government in case I ever caught a RICO trial. That shit was worth over fifty million now.
I stared down into the glass, thinking about all of the betrayals that led me here. All the decisions that got me here.
