Richard didn’t know Trevor was already eyeing the vault.
His energy was currently entirely focused on Jimmy’s counterfeit business.
Under the dual pressure of gang complaints and law enforcement attention, Richard decided to personally investigate Jimmy’s source.
Jimmy had always said there was a “mysterious supplier” but never revealed a name.
Richard took advantage of a gap while Jimmy was in the bathroom to flip through his chat history.
The supplier’s code name was “Dragon,” and the avatar was a dragon.
The chat logs showed that Jimmy placed every order through an encrypted chat app, paid in Bitcoin, and the delivery location was Warehouse No.
3 at the Port of Los Santos.
Warehouse No.
3.
Richard thought the address sounded familiar.
He thought for three seconds and suddenly sprang out of his chair.
“Warehouse No.
3?!
Isn’t that where Trevor and Walter do their handovers?!”
He immediately called Lester: “Lester, help me check who the lessee of Warehouse No.
3 at the Port of Los Santos is.”
Lester replied thirty seconds later: “A shell company registered in Delaware.
But I followed the money trail…
and guess what?
It eventually flows to a Richard businessman named Walter.
Trevor’s partner.”
Richard almost dropped his phone.
Jimmy’s counterfeits—Trevor’s counterfeits—same source.
This meant the fake Gucci and fake Rolexes Jimmy sold online were from the same batch Trevor distributed in the Desert.
Was Jimmy Trevor’s subordinate?
No, Jimmy didn’t even know Trevor.
He just got goods from “Dragon,” and “Dragon” was likely an intermediary for Walter.
“This world is too small,” Richard muttered to himself.
He decided to go to Warehouse No.
3 at the port to take a look.
At ten o’clock at night, Richard drove Lamar’s beat-up pickup to the Port of Los Santos.
Warehouse No.
3 was a gray corrugated iron building.
Two container trucks were parked at the entrance.
There were no lights, but the hum of machinery could be heard inside.
Richard climbed in through a side ventilation duct—a stealth route he’d learned from the game.
The interior of the warehouse was piled with cardboard boxes printed with “MADE IN C-country” and a bunch of Richard characters.
He sliced open a box with a knife; inside were neatly packed high-imitation Gucci bags, the craftsmanship better than he had imagined.
“This is exactly the kind Jimmy’s selling!” Richard picked up a bag and flipped to the internal tag; the serial number was identical to the photos Jimmy sent to customers.
Just as he was about to put the bag back, a voice came from behind him.
“Going through other people’s things isn’t polite.”
Richard spun around and saw a middle-aged Richard man in a polo shirt standing behind him, holding a folding knife.
Two burly men in black suits stood behind the man.
“Walter?” Richard blurted out.
Walter narrowed his eyes.
“You know me?”
“No, I guessed.”
“A very accurate guess.” Walter toyed with the folding knife, looking Richard up and down.
“Who are you?
Why are you in my warehouse?”
Richard’s mind raced.
He couldn’t tell the truth (“I’m your subordinate’s subordinate’s partner”), nor could he tell a flat-out lie (too easy to expose).
He chose a half-truth. This story is hosted at g.com.
“I’m a friend of Jimmy’s.
Jimmy De Santa.
He gets goods from you.”
Walter’s brow twitched.
“Jimmy?
That little fat kid?”
“Yeah.”
“He owes me twelve thousand for the last shipment.
Are you here to pay it back?”
Richard cursed Jimmy ten thousand times in his heart.
That bastard not only sold fakes but also owed money?
“I…
didn’t know about that.
I’ll have him pay you back.”
“You’ll have him pay?” Walter laughed, a smile completely different from Trevor’s—Trevor’s was manic, while Walter’s was cold.
“Tell him to transfer the money to my account by the end of the day.
Otherwise, the next person coming won’t be you; it’ll be my ‘collection team.'”
Walter turned and left, followed by the two burly men.
Richard stood there, still holding the fake Gucci bag.
The ventilation duct was cool, but Richard’s back was drenched in sweat.
He pulled out his phone and called Jimmy.
“Jimmy, you owe the supplier twelve thousand?”
There was three seconds of silence on the other end, then Jimmy’s voice sounded as guilty as a trapped rat: “…How did you know?”
“I’m at Warehouse No.
3!
I got cornered by Walter!”
“What were you doing at the warehouse?!”
“Checking the source!
And I found out you owe money!
Do you have any idea who this Walter works with?
Trevor!
Trevor!
The maniac who almost killed your dad!”
Jimmy cried.
He really cried, the sobbing kind.
“I…
I didn’t know what to do…
I thought he was just a regular wholesaler…”
“Well, now you know.
Get the money ready and transfer it to his account first thing tomorrow morning.
It’s coming out of your profits.”
“But I don’t have that much cash…”
“Then sell your console, your TV, and all that fake inventory!
I’m not covering for you anymore; helping you pay off the gang last time already cost me eight hundred!”
Richard hung up, crawled out of the ventilation duct, and got back in the pickup.
He leaned against the seat with his eyes closed, feeling his Counterfeit Empire side quest collapsing at an uncontrollable speed.
The phone vibrated.
It wasn’t the system; it was Lamar.
“Richard!
Tanisha agreed to go on a date with me!
Tomorrow night! Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
What should I wear?!”
Richard said weakly, “Wear whatever.
Just don’t wear fakes.”
“Why?”
“Because fakes will get you thrown in jail.”
“A date can get you thrown in jail?!”
“Lamar, I’m not in the mood to explain.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He hung up, started the pickup, and drove away from the port.
In the rearview mirror, the lights of Warehouse No.
3 looked like a yellow eye in the darkness, staring coldly at him.
Returning to the safe house, Richard opened the system panel:
Side Quest [Jimmy’s Counterfeit Empire] Status: In Crisis.
Current Progress: 15/20 fakes sold.
Unresolved Issues: Gang complaints (Resolved), Police attention (Resolved), Supplier debt (Unresolved), Trevor-related risk (New).
Suggestion: Clear the debt as soon as possible and maintain distance from Trevor’s faction.
Richard looked at the words “Trevor-related risk,” and his head hurt even more.
“System, can I abandon this quest?”
Abandoning the quest will result in Jimmy’s favorability -50 and trigger a ‘Counterfeit Dispute’ event with Trevor, which may affect the main storyline.
“So I can’t abandon it, right?”
Correct.
Richard tossed his phone aside and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“I just wanted to sell some fakes for extra cash; how did I get rolled into Trevor’s business?”
No one answered him.
But on the other side of Los Santos, Trevor was holding a fake Gucci bag, looking at it against the light.
This bag was a random sample from Walter’s stock.
He flipped the bag over and saw the serial number on the internal tag.
Then he took out his phone and scrolled to the ad Richard had posted on a social app.
The bag in the ad photo had the exact same serial number.
Trevor laughed.
“So it’s you, Richard kid.”
He didn’t call Richard immediately, nor did he tell Michael.
He just committed the serial number to memory and tossed the bag to Franklins Assistant.
“Check the sales channels for this bag for me.
Online and offline, all of them.”
Franklins Assistant caught the bag: “You suspect someone’s stealing our stock?”
“Not stealing.
Someone’s selling our stock but not giving us a cut,” Trevor leaned back in his beat-up chair, propping his feet on the table.
“And this person just happens to be a friend of Michael’s.”
“What do you want to do?”
“No rush.” Trevor picked up a fake Rolex, put it on his wrist, and fastened the clasp.
“Let him sell it first.
The more he sells, the more he owes me.
Once he’s in too deep to pay it back, that’s when I go to collect.”
Franklins Assistant shivered.
When Trevor said “collect,” it sounded the same as when other people said “take a life.”
In the safehouse, Richard sneezed.
“Who’s badmouthing me?”
He rubbed his nose and continued flipping through Walter’s files.
He didn’t know that Trevor had already discovered his little business, and he knew even less that a giant net was quietly tightening.
The night wind of Los Santos blew in through the window, carrying the scent of the distant Desert.
Hot, dry, and dangerous.