Looking across my desk at these men, I knew this was the team that I needed around me to take my empire to the next level. While I had several lieutenants that were making moves for me only a select few made it into my inner circle. I had been in the game for almost 15 years. My name rang louder than church bells up and down Florida. I was the nigga that everyone wanted to be. Over the years I had seen many youngsters come and try to take my spot but here I was still reigning supreme, Money Motherfucking K.
My philosophy was simple.
- Drugs sell themselves. No really… people are always going to do drugs. Give them a good product and you will have a loyal customer and nothing is more loyal than a crackhead to a hit.
- If you are afraid to get knocked or dead, this ain’t the life for you. If you slip, take your charge and shut the fuck up. I am tired of hearing about real niggas doing basketball numbers on the strength of fuck niggas with weak hearts.
And that leads me to the most important…
- Keep a white man in a suit on your team. Real shit. These young bucks get a couple of stacks and cop them a foreign whip and a bitch with foreign parts thinking that is life. Not me, I keep a lawyer on retainer, a judge on speed dial and several cops on payroll to keep my name out of shit. I also have an accountant who keeps my money clean, letting me know what I can spend to stay under the radar.
I wasn’t new to this I was a vet. My money was so long at this point I could walk away from the game and live my life another 200 years. I wasn’t one of those hood rich niggas anymore. My family was good for generations with both my illegal and my legal money. Aside from the car wash, I owned several apartment buildings here and downtown. I was a silent investor in one of the hottest clubs in Miami and two galleries in the art district. I was at the point where my money made money while I slept. This wasn’t about just the money. I mean it was definitely about the money but this was also about my legacy. Our legacy.
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