Chapter 5: Blood on the Maybach

He’d built a whole network, an underground operation. His phone buzzed nonstop, drivers checking in from every corner of town.

Why did so many people work for him?

Because he cut everyone in on the action, and most folks would do anything for extra cash—especially if they thought it was victimless.

Because my cousin wasn’t really a recluse. All that time at home had built up a huge client base, and only then did he start his “fishing season.”

He called it “fishing season” with a smirk, saying that’s when the real money rolled in. The rest of the year was just baiting the hook.

Others couldn’t just copy his method and expect business every day.

It took patience, connections, and a willingness to dance on the edge.

My cousin told me to keep at it and not be afraid. He said I’d earned two hundred bucks in commission the day before—what was there to worry about?

He tossed me a wad of twenties, told me to treat myself. “You’re in the big leagues now, kid.”

Still, I felt uneasy.

The knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away. Every time I saw a hospital bracelet, I thought about my mom.

He patted my shoulder, encouraging me to land an even bigger deal.

“Sky’s the limit,” he said. “Go reel in a whale.”

I didn’t let him down.

The very next day, I landed a big one: a Mercedes-Maybach, rented out for four hundred bucks a day.

This car was a monster—jet black, with seats so soft you felt like you were floating. I’d never even seen one up close before.

This wasn’t some family run—the owner rushed out, tossed me the keys, signed the contract, then clutched his chest and staggered toward the ER, collapsing on the pavement.

It happened so fast I barely had time to react. He dropped the keys, gasping, and went down hard. My heart pounded as I called for help.

I hurried over, helping carry him into the ER. The hospital reeked of disinfectant, the echo of ambulance sirens in the distance. Nurses in scrubs rushed over, shouting for a gurney.

I told my cousin, who nodded and said, “Big deal coming. You helped him into the hospital, so keep the car for a few days. You’re his benefactor—he won’t dare get mad.”

He grinned, like it was just another chess move. “People remember who helps them. Don’t sweat it.”

But I felt like this job was heartless.

The guilt gnawed at me. Every time I thought about the owner lying in that hospital bed, I wondered if he’d ever come back for his car.

Everyone at the hospital was at rock bottom—worried about loved ones, or themselves—and here we were, taking advantage of their worst moments.

It made me feel slimy, like I was cashing in on someone else’s pain.

But I couldn’t walk away—the commission was seventy percent.

The money was just too good. Every time I tried to quit, my cousin would slip me another stack of bills.

My cousin’s wife quickly lined up another gig. This time, it was a web drama studio—the kind that films those over-the-top CEO romance skits for TikTok.