# Chapter 5: Money, Money, Money

Alex slid into his new Porsche with the smooth confidence of a man who had just pulled off the con of a lifetime. Thirty million dollars. Not bad for a lunch meeting.

He started the engine, letting the quiet electric purr wash over him. This car was definitely worth every penny. He had to look successful to be successful, after all. That's how the game worked.

As he drove away from the restaurant, his mind raced with the endless possibilities that thirty million dollars would bring. He hadn't felt this kind of high since his first successful pump-and-dump scheme years ago. Back then, he'd been thrilled with a mere hundred thousand. How far he'd come.

"Money, money, money," he sang quietly to himself, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm. He didn't even mind getting stuck in afternoon traffic. Let the peasants in their normal cars look at him with envy.

Alex's phone buzzed against the sleek leather seat. He glanced at the screen to see Marcus calling. Perfect timing. He hit the Bluetooth button on the steering wheel.

"Marcus, my friend! Guess who just secured thirty million dollars from some very impressed Asian investors?"

"Seriously?" Marcus's voice sounded tinny through the car speakers. "They actually agreed to invest? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Alex replied, unable to keep the smugness from his voice. "Well, there are some due diligence steps, but it's basically a done deal. Liang was practically salivating over our 'revolutionary technology.'"

"But we don't have revolutionary technology," Marcus said, the worry in his voice clear even through the car's speakers. "We have a basic token with a weird name that does nothing special."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Details, Marcus. Details. Byron managed to convince them we're cutting-edge. You should have seen him on the video call. Spouting technical jargon like he was some kind of blockchain genius."

"Byron went along with this?"

"He had no choice. I put him on the spot," Alex chuckled, remembering Byron's panicked face. "But he pulled through. Turns out our resident tech nerd can lie when necessary. Or maybe he wasn't lying - maybe we actually do have all that fancy technical stuff he was talking about."

"I seriously doubt that," Marcus muttered.

"Anyway," Alex continued, ignoring the comment, "I'm heading back to the office. We need to start planning how to use this cash infusion. Properly, this time."

"You mean paying back Johnson and Rodriguez?" Marcus asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

"Of course, of course," Alex said dismissively, turning onto the highway. "Well, some of it. We'll give them enough to keep them happy. Say, twenty percent of what we owe them."

"That's not going to keep them happy for long, Alex."

"It buys us time, which is all we need. Once we get the Asian money, we'll launch the NFT project for real, do a proper marketing push for Baba-Yaga, maybe even develop some actual utility for the token. Like Grandma Coin"

"Or we could just take the money and run," Marcus suggested, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Alex considered this for a moment. The thought had crossed his mind, of course. Thirty million dollars in an offshore account somewhere warm with no extradition treaties... it was tempting. But something kept him from embracing the exit strategy.

"And miss out on the next big score? I don't think so. This is just the beginning, Marcus. Think bigger!" Alex accelerated past a minivan, feeling the satisfying push of the Porsche's electric motor. "Besides, running is for people who've been caught. We haven't been caught at anything."

"Yet," Marcus added.

"Such a pessimist," Alex sighed. "Meet me at the office in twenty. And bring some champagne. The good stuff, not that swill we served at the NFT launch party."

He hung up before Marcus could respond and turned up the music, letting the bass thump through the car's premium sound system. This called for a celebration soundtrack.

As Alex pulled into his reserved parking spot at the office building, he noticed a familiar luxury SUV already parked nearby. Johnson. His heart rate picked up slightly, but he quickly steadied it. The payment deadline he'd promised Johnson had passed two weeks ago. No surprise the man was here in person now. He'd been dealing with impatient investors his entire career. This was nothing new.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Johnson's number before getting out of the car.

"Johnson! What a surprise. I see your car in the parking lot."

"Reynolds." Johnson's voice was cold and clipped. "We need to talk. Now. I've been calling you for days. You promised that payment last month."

"Perfect timing," Alex replied smoothly. "I was just about to call you with some excellent news. Come on up to my office. Fifth floor."

Without waiting for a response, Alex ended the call and strolled into the building, nodding at the security guard as he passed. He was halfway to the elevator when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"I don't think I need to come up," Johnson said, his voice low and menacing. He was a large man with a linebacker's build who had made his first millions in construction before diversifying into "alternative investments" like Baba-Yaga. "I think we can talk right here about when I'm getting my money. My patience is gone. I've heard too many excuses about 'processing delays' and 'regulatory issues' over the last three weeks."

Alex glanced around the lobby, noting several people watching with interest. He maintained his smile, patting Johnson's hand on his shoulder like they were old friends.

"Robert, always so direct. That's what I've always liked about you," he said, his voice friendly but firm. "But I really do have excellent news that I think you'll want to hear in private. And Marcus is bringing champagne."

Johnson's eyes narrowed, but his hand dropped from Alex's shoulder. "Champagne?"

"To celebrate our new partnership agreement. Thirty million dollars worth of celebration, to be exact." Alex pressed the elevator button, watching as Johnson's expression shifted from anger to cautious interest.

"Thirty million? From who?"

"Asian investors," Alex replied, stepping into the elevator as it arrived. "Very impressed with our technology and growth potential. The term sheet is being drawn up as we speak."

Johnson followed him into the elevator, his posture still tense but his expression calculating. "And my investment?"

"Will be returned with the promised interest, of course," Alex assured him as the doors closed. "I know I missed our deadline. That software issue with our payment processor was completely unexpected. But I was planning to send you a goodwill payment this week, even before the Asian money comes through. A show of good faith."

"How much of a 'goodwill payment'?" Johnson asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Alex pretended to consider this as the elevator climbed. "Let's say... five hundred thousand? As an advance on what we owe you."

"You owe me three million, Reynolds," Johnson stated flatly. "You said the same things two weeks ago, and before that too. My partners are getting nervous, and so am I."

"And you'll get it all, with interest," Alex replied confidently as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor. "I understand your frustration. The delays with our banking partners weren't something I could control. But that's all about to change."

As they stepped out of the elevator, Alex could see Marcus waiting by the office door, a bottle of champagne in one hand and an expression of surprise on his face as he spotted Johnson.

"Marcus! Perfect timing. Johnson here was just expressing his enthusiasm about our new Asian partnership. Bring that champagne into the conference room, would you? And three glasses."

Marcus nodded, understanding immediately that Alex was working his magic again. "Of course. I'll set it up right away."

Inside the conference room, Alex gestured for Johnson to take a seat while Marcus opened the champagne with a satisfying pop. The tension in the room was palpable, but Alex thrived on it. This was the game he played best.

"So, thirty million," Johnson said as Marcus handed him a glass of champagne. "That's a significant investment for a cryptocurrency with no actual use case."

"That's where you're wrong, Robert," Alex replied, taking his own glass and raising it in a toast. "Baba-Yaga has tremendous utility potential. That's what impressed our Asian partners the most. Our ongoing NFT project is just the beginning."

Johnson didn't touch his champagne. "I don't care about NFTs or utility potential. I care about my three million dollars. I was patient before because your weekly updates sounded promising, but it's been radio silence for ten days now. My partners think you're running a scam."

"And you'll get it," Alex assured him, taking a sip of his champagne. "The communication breakdown was my fault, I admit it. But I've been working day and night to land this deal. In fact, I'm prepared to offer you something even better than just your principal plus interest."

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"A partnership position in our expansion into the Asian market," Alex said, watching Johnson's expression carefully. "With your background in international business, you'd be a valuable advisor. For a share of the profits, of course."

It was a complete fabrication, of course, but Alex knew Johnson well enough to understand his weak spots. The man didn't just want his money back; he wanted status, recognition, and to be seen as more than just a check-writer.

"What kind of partnership position are we talking about?" Johnson asked, finally picking up his champagne glass.

Alex smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought.

An hour and many promises later, Johnson left the office with a signed letter of intent outlining his new "advisory role" in Baba-Yaga's Asian expansion, plus an agreement for the $500,000 goodwill payment to be wired to his account by the end of the week.

As the door closed behind him, Marcus lounged back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "You really know how to play them, don't you?"

"People believe what they want to believe," Alex said, refilling his champagne glass. "Johnson doesn't just want his money back; he wants to feel important. To be part of something big. I gave him that feeling."

"And the five hundred thousand?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow. "Though I'm guessing we're taking that from Rodriguez's pool?"

Alex shrugged. "We'll mint and sell some more Baba-Yaga. Or use what's left of Rodriguez's investment. The details aren't important. What matters is that we've bought time until the Asian money comes through."

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "God, I'm good at this."

"You are," Marcus said, raising his glass in a toast. "And that's why I stick around. So what's our next move with all this new cash flowing in?"

Alex took another sip of champagne, savoring the expensive bubbles. "Now we figure out what to do with thirty million dollars."

He pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and placed it on the conference table. "I've been thinking about this the whole drive back. Here's how we're going to break it down."

Alex began scribbling numbers on the page. "Five million to placate the current investors—Johnson, Rodriguez, and the Singapore collective. Just enough to keep them from causing problems while we implement the next phase."

"Which is?" Marcus prompted.

"Ten million for actual development and marketing," Alex continued, writing the figure down. "We'll hire real developers, not just Byron and his two college buddies. We'll build a proper website, create genuine marketing materials, maybe even develop some actual technology."

Marcus looked surprised. "You want to create a real product?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Alex said, though he understood Marcus's surprise. This wasn't how they usually operated. "If we're going to scale up, we need something that at least appears legitimate. The scrutiny gets more intense the more money you have."

He continued writing. "Five million for expansion into new markets. Europe, South America, maybe even Africa. Untapped potential everywhere."

"And the remaining ten million?" Marcus asked, eyeing the notebook.

Alex grinned. "Personal expenses and contingency funds. We need to maintain our image, after all." He gestured around the modest office. "This place won't impress thirty-million-dollar investors. We need a proper headquarters. Something sleek and modern in a trendy neighborhood."

"And I'm assuming you'll need a bigger apartment? Maybe a vacation home?" Marcus added dryly.

"Exactly!" Alex exclaimed, ignoring the sarcasm. "You understand perfectly. Success breeds success, Marcus. We need to look the part."

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city below. "I'm thinking a penthouse. Something with a view. Maybe a place in Miami too, for winter meetings with international clients."

"So how much of our cut can I expect from this windfall?" Marcus asked, swirling his champagne. "I've got my eye on a beachfront property that would make an excellent 'corporate retreat' location."

Alex grinned approvingly. "Now you're talking! We'll work out the specifics, but trust me, we'll both be living very comfortably."

"Speaking of the people making this all possible," Marcus said, checking his watch, "Byron's been texting me non-stop about that call. Poor guy probably wants to know if he should start packing for jail or not."

"Tell him to come up here," Alex replied, refilling his glass again. "He deserves some champagne too. And a bonus. Did I mention we should give him a bonus?"

While Marcus texted Byron, Alex continued his list, adding items like "executive retreat" and "company cars" under the personal expenses category. By the time Byron arrived, looking disheveled and anxious as usual, Alex had mapped out how to spend every cent of the thirty million dollars.

"There he is!" Alex exclaimed as Byron entered the conference room. "The man of the hour! Our technical genius!"

Byron adjusted his glasses nervously. "About that call—"

"Brilliant performance," Alex interrupted, handing him a glass of champagne. "You had them completely convinced. Even I thought you knew what you were talking about."

"I made up most of it," Byron admitted, accepting the champagne reluctantly. "ZK-rollups are real, but we don't use them. We don't have any proprietary technology at all."

"But they don't know that," Alex pointed out, tapping his temple. "And by the time they figure it out—if they ever do—we'll have used their money to build something that actually works. Or at least looks like it works, which is nearly the same thing."

Byron took a small sip of champagne, grimacing slightly at the taste. "This seems like fraud, Alex."

"Not at all," Alex countered smoothly. "It's aspirational marketing. We're selling what we intend to become, not what we are now. Every startup does it."

He put his arm around Byron's shoulders, steering him toward the whiteboard on the wall. "And speaking of what we're going to become, I want to show you my vision for the next phase of Baba-Yaga."

For the next twenty minutes, Alex outlined his grand plans for expanding the company, hiring more developers, creating a proper NFT marketplace, and potentially even developing a unique blockchain protocol that would actually justify all the technical jargon Byron had spouted during the call.

"With thirty million dollars, we can do all of this and more," Alex concluded, spreading his arms wide. "We can actually build something real for once."

Byron looked skeptical but slightly intrigued. "You actually want to create legitimate technology?"

"Why not?" Alex shrugged. "I mean, not completely legitimate—we still need to make money, after all. But something with enough substance to attract even bigger investments down the line."

He walked back to the table and picked up his notebook. "And as a token of my appreciation for your quick thinking today, I'm giving you a bonus."

Byron's eyebrows shot up. "A bonus?"

"Ten thousand dollars," Alex said magnanimously. "For your exceptional contribution to securing our Asian partnership."

Marcus coughed into his champagne, clearly surprised by the figure. Byron looked equally shocked.

"Ten thousand?" he repeated. "That's... unexpected."

"You earned it," Alex assured him, already moving on to his next thought. "Oh, and I need you to build a website about me."

Byron blinked. "About you? Not about Baba-Yaga?"

"I already have a Baba-Yaga website. I need a personal brand website. Something that showcases my expertise and vision as a blockchain entrepreneur and thought leader. Heavy on the achievements, light on the specific details."

"Okay," Byron said slowly. "I can probably put something together next week when I'm done with the NFT—"

"I need it by Friday," Alex interrupted. "And I also need you to make me appear in Wikipedia."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, create a Wikipedia page about me. 'Alex Reynolds, visionary blockchain entrepreneur and founder of multiple successful cryptocurrency ventures.' That sort of thing."

Byron frowned. "I can't just create a Wikipedia page. They have rules about notability and reliable sources. You need press coverage, books written about you, significant—"

"Details, Byron, details," Alex waved dismissively. "I'm sure you can figure it out. You're the technical genius, remember?"

Before Byron could protest further, Alex glanced at his watch and picked up his jacket. "I need to run. I have a dinner meeting with Patricia to discuss next steps with our Asian friends. Start on that website tonight, will you? Excellence waits for no one!"

He swept out of the conference room, leaving Byron standing there with his mouth half-open. Marcus gave Byron a pat on the shoulder, raising his champagne glass.

"Welcome to the big leagues, kid," Marcus said with a smirk. "Better get started on that Wikipedia page. I hear there's a whole industry of paid editors who can help with that sort of thing."

As Alex rode the elevator back down to the lobby, he hummed contentedly to himself. Thirty million dollars. A new penthouse. Maybe a yacht? He'd always wanted a yacht. Nothing too ostentatious—just something in the 100-foot range with a helicopter pad. For business meetings, of course.

By the time he reached his new Porsche, Alex had mentally spent at least half of the thirty million already. He slid into the driver's seat, admiring the sleek dashboard and the way the leather seat embraced him like an old friend.

"This is just the beginning," he told himself as he started the engine. "Thirty million today, three hundred million tomorrow."

As he pulled out of the parking lot, Alex barely registered the relieved look on Byron's face as he rushed out of the building, clutching his laptop bag. All Alex could see was the bright, golden future stretching out before him—a future built on the perfect blend of technical-sounding nonsense, Asian capital, and his own unshakable confidence.

The world was his for the taking, one gullible investor at a time.