33| Maverick.

“I’m not buying anything else from you unless you can guarantee that there won't be any more fuck-ups with my shipment, Trex.” I say into the phone and scroll through the spreadsheets on my computer.

I’ve spent the whole morning in my office, uptown at 5 Fusion, going over the cash flow of my clubs and the casino business I've recently dipped my fingers into.

“There's a new line of home brew that everyone on the dark net is trying to get their hands on,” he says. “But lucky for you, I am in contact with the source themselves.”

I lean back in my office chair, rolling my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. Trex is constantly trying to make himself sound more important than what he really is.

He's like a shrimp. A cockroach of the ocean.

“Is it pure?” I sigh.

“Pure?” Trex asks me dumbfounded, like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

“Yes, Trex. Is the brew a hundred percent pure. As in, it's not laced with any illegal substances because you know full well that I don't meddle