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Chapter 91

  • While stuck in heavy traffic on the expressway thirty minutes outside Miami in my Tesla, I received a call from an FBI agent. I hit a button on my steering wheel to answer, muting the Latin jazz.
  • "What the fuck, bro?"
  • I cringe. Like George, even the federal officers refer to each other as "bros." I feel a twinge of terror after hearing him speak. I may be the wealthiest man in Miami, but the feds have a way of making some guys pucker up.
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