Richard’s counterfeit business was more popular than expected.
Jimmy’s website, “Jimmy’s Picks,” had spread throughout the Los Santos underground market, not because of good quality, but because it was cheap—a high-quality replica Gucci bag, which sold for three thousand at the counter, Jimmy sold for two hundred, with free shipping.
Of course, the shipping fee was actually paid by the buyer; Jimmy wrote “free shipping” in huge letters, and the shipping terms were hidden at the very bottom of the page in a font so small it required a magnifying glass.
“This is fraud,” Richard said, looking at the website page.
“It’s called marketing strategy,” Jimmy chewed potato chips proudly.
“My dad taught me.”
“Your dad taught you to rob banks, not wallets.”
“Essentially the same.”
Richard rolled his eyes, but still helped Jimmy set up an account on a social media app, naming it “Los Santos Luxury Discount Store.” He used Photoshop to make the fake product photos look identical to the real ones, and the copy was flowery—”direct from bonded warehouse,” “supports counter verification,” “ten times compensation for fakes” (of course, no one actually verified them, and no one ever received compensation).
In the first week, they sold five counterfeit items: three bottles of perfume, one bag, and one watch.
Total revenue was 1,200, and Richard got 300.
“Three hundred dollars,” Richard said, looking at the transfer record on his phone.
“I risked my life robbing jewelry in Los Santos and only got 300,000, but I earned 300 selling fakes in a week.
The cost-effectiveness is too low.”
“Accumulate small amounts into large ones!” Jimmy encouraged him.
“Look at those e-commerce giants, which one didn’t start by selling fakes?”
“They were all sued later.”
“That’s because they weren’t small enough.
We’re small, so no one cares.”
Richard had to admit that Jimmy’s twisted logic sometimes made sense.
In the second week, business suddenly exploded.
A Los Santos local influencer posted a picture of a fake Gucci bag sold by Jimmy on social media, with the caption “Sisters, go!
This store’s stuff is exactly the same as the counter!”—that post had over two hundred comments, all asking for the link.
Overnight, website traffic increased tenfold.
Jimmy’s phone kept ringing with orders.
Richard was forced to work overtime, using his system minimap to mark the locations of all courier pickup points in Los Santos for Jimmy to ship goods.
“I’ve never been this busy!” Jimmy yelled while packing, potato chip crumbs falling everywhere. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“You’ve never worked!” Richard retorted.
Lamar also came to help—or rather, to cause trouble.
He volunteered to be a “delivery driver,” driving his dilapidated pickup truck all over the city delivering fake goods.
The very first day, something went wrong: he delivered one order incorrectly, sending a bottle of fake perfume to a gang leader’s daughter and a fake watch to a police chief’s secretary.
“How the hell did you deliver it?” Richard was fuming.
“I didn’t look at the names, only the addresses!” Lamar said aggrievedly.
“I thought it didn’t matter if I delivered it wrong, since they’re all fakes, it’s the same whoever receives them.”
“Same my ass!
That gang leader’s daughter found out the perfume was fake and said she’d send people to cut us up!”
“Then…
what about the police chief?”
“His secretary found out the watch was fake and said she’d report it to the Commercial Crime Investigation Department!”
Jimmy’s face turned pale: “Are we going to jail?”
Richard took a deep breath, his mind racing.
In the game, these side missions usually had two solutions: either violent resolution (killing the complainants) or paying to resolve the problem (refund + compensation).
Violent resolution was clearly unsuitable—Richard didn’t want to kill someone for selling fakes; that would be too absurd.
“Jimmy, how much cash do you have left?”
“About…
two thousand?”
“Take it out.
Lamar, you go back to that gang leader’s place, refund his daughter for the perfume, and compensate her with a real one.”
“Where do I buy a real one?”
“Buy it at the counter!
With our money!”
Lamar left with a long face.
Jimmy continued packing, his hands trembling.
Richard sat on the sofa, rubbing his temples.
Side quest [Jimmy’s Counterfeit Empire] updated:
Current progress: 12/20 fake items sold.
Sudden crisis: Gang complaint (unresolved), police attention (unresolved).
Suggestion: Resolve the crisis as soon as possible, otherwise the mission may fail.
Richard looked at the prompt and gave a wry smile: “System, can’t you just delete the complaint for me?”
The system did not reply.
But ten minutes later, Richard received a call—it was from Lester.
“I heard you’re selling fakes?” Lester’s voice carried a hint of amusement.
“How do you know?”
“I tapped into the police department’s channel.
They mentioned your name—no, Jimmy’s name.
You’re using a website called ‘Jimmy’s Picks,’ right?”
“…Right.”
“The website’s server is terrible; I hacked into it in three minutes.
But I didn’t touch your data; instead, I added a layer of encryption for you.
Now the police can’t trace your IP.”
Richard was stunned: “Why are you helping us?”
“Because I’m bored,” Lester said.
“And I think your fake goods business is much more interesting than Michael’s midlife crisis.”
“…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.
Next time, buy me pizza.”
After hanging up, Richard let out a long sigh.
The police crisis was temporarily defused, but the gang situation still depended on Lamar.
He hoped Lamar wouldn’t mess it up—though the probability was small.