When we first arrived in Beijing, everything seemed to be copacetic. We were being shown around to all the new construction sites symbolizing the growth of Beijing. We were staying in a five-star hotel with red and gold walls and beautiful, antique, jade vases and hand carved furniture. We had an escort, Mr. Wong, and a bodyguard, Mr. Chin, who were driving us around in Bentley taxicabs. Talk about luxury on steroids.

At the business meetings the first week, the executives representing Bitcoin Project said they were pleased to do business with Don Carlos. This was business that didn’t involve banks, and it was the new money system. Then they walked Kaylin and me through the process of setting up our own accounts. Kay even got some networking in by negotiating bringing his artists from Game Over Records to tour Beijing and Shanghai, since the youth loved Hip-Hop over here.

They gave us a brief history lesson on how the Chinese viewed America. America used to be strong, but now they owed China a shitload of money. But they still liked doing business with Americans; one of their top consumers.

We had one more day in China before we would fly back to the States. I was just about to breathe easy. I needed to get back to my wife and my family, especially my princess.

But then about eight men in uniforms showed up at our hotel rooms around 10pm. I assumed they were the Chinese police.

“You! Mr. Macklin and Mr. Santos, come with us. You are wanted for questioning.”

They spoke perfect English.

KAYLIN

We finally learned that even though Mr. Li had told Trae that no harm would come to him and his family, he still sent someone to take Trae out right there behind the wall. He was not a man of his word. And I had a problem with that. This was now personal for me.

I thought about the final confrontation Mr. Li and I had when I pulled out my trump card. Because of that little piece of information, he couldn’t have me if he wanted to.

Mr. Li jumped out his chair. “You want to go to war with me? You are nothing! You think you can come into my house, shut down my operation, and get away with it? You fuckin’ porch monkey! Are you ready to go to war with me?” The veins were popping around his neck, and he was damn near foaming at the mouth, looking at me through glossy eyes.

“Do we have a deal?” I asked him again.

Finally, he said, “I have some stipulations of my own. You have forty-eight hours to leave the state. I don’t want you back here, and if I hear anything about you in my backyard, the deal is off. Whatever business we had is done and forgotten. Mr. Santos and Mr. Macklin, you no longer exist.”

“I have no problem with that.”