Chapter 132: Chapter 95: Is a Shoebox Full of Money Enough?

"Got any? I need Number 7," a woman rushed to the front, clutching a handful of crumpled cash. "Please, I have money, I have money..."

Kevin swallowed. "Fifteen USD for a small bag. Standard size."

The original price was 10 USD. He had directly added fifty percent.

He’d thought the price was already high enough, but to these people, it was as if it cost nothing.

The people at the front quickly snapped up half of his 100-bag supply.

More people emerged from various corners, surging toward Kevin as if by some unspoken agreement.

Suddenly, a bold idea popped into Kevin’s mind.

’Since I can get away with a fifty percent markup, why not... add a bit more?’

’These people here don’t dare cross me, and right now, we’re the only ones selling this brand. I could make a killing.’

’For every bag sold, Scarface gives me a 1 USD commission. Selling all 100 bags would net me 100 USD.’

’But what if I bumped the price to 16 USD? It would make no difference to these junkies, but I could double my pay for the day.’

’If I went up to 17 USD a bag, I’d make 300 USD today.’

’And Scarface would never know...’

"I’m running low," he shouted. "Price is going up. It’s 18—no, 19 USD a bag!"

The price was almost double the usual rate. Yet, the junkies surging forward didn’t seem to care, still waving crumpled bills and old pieces of jewelry, desperate for a fleeting moment of euphoria.

Quickly, another half of Kevin’s product was gone, leaving him with a little over 20 bags.

’They didn’t even blink at 19 USD, which is almost double the price...’

"Twenty-three bags left," he said, taking a deep breath. "Thirty USD a bag."

A brief, dead silence fell over the crowd, immediately followed by an uproar.

"Thirty USD! Are you robbing us?" a burly man in a tattered work coat roared. His eyes were sunken, but his rage now made him look terrifying. "It was 19 a minute ago, and now it’s 30? Are you trying to mess with us?"

"Yeah! You little bastard!"

"Hand over the stuff!"

Anger spread through the crowd like a lit fuse. A few men, driven senseless by their addiction, began to press forward. They stared at Kevin’s slight frame, the greed in their eyes hardening into a menacing glare. Before the promise of a fix, morality and reason were long gone.

Kevin abruptly lifted the hem of his jacket, revealing the pistol that had just drawn blood. He placed his hand on the grip, his fierce gaze sweeping over the men at the front.

"Some dumbass tried to rob me a minute ago. His brains are probably frozen solid by now," he spat, his voice vicious. "Who wants to be next? Come on! See if this gun is just for show!"

The man in the work coat who led the charge immediately deflated. On this street, killing someone over a few dozen USD was nothing new, and no one wanted to die for a quick fix.

The crowd cowered, their earlier bravado gone.

A woman with a haggard face squeezed through a gap in the crowd. She was wearing only a thin knit sweater.

"Hey handsome... don’t be like that," she said with a fawning smile, one hand casually pulling down her collar to reveal a chest covered in needle marks and large, purplish-blue bruises. "I only have 20 USD. For the rest... I can pay you in other ways. Anything you want. Just for one bag... just one..."

Kevin took half a step back in disgust. "Get lost! I only take cash!"

"Please!" the woman suddenly wailed hysterically, grabbing a sleeping baby with a face red from the cold from the tattered stroller behind her. "Look at this child! If I can’t get some relief, how am I supposed to take care of him! For God’s sake, for the child’s sake, cut me a break!"

"A baby!" someone in the crowd yelled. "Sell the kid! Then you’ll have money!"

Kevin looked at the baby, and for a fleeting moment, a thought struck him—’Maybe this is how Mom struggled to raise me and Michael?’ 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

But he looked at the people around him, watching like vultures. Which one of them didn’t have a pitiful story? If he showed a single moment of weakness, they would tear him apart.

"If you don’t have the money, get lost," Kevin said coldly. "This isn’t a charity. If you really cared about the kid, you’d use that money to buy him some formula."

The woman’s expression instantly shifted from pleading to venomous. She shot Kevin a hateful glare, tossed the baby back into the stroller like a bag of trash, and started frantically patting herself down, cursing as she searched for any hidden cash.

"Forget her," a voice rasped as a withered hand shot up. "I’ll take one!"

"Me too! Save one for me!"

The stalemate was broken. Once the first person caved, the rest scrambled over one another in a panic.

In less than two minutes, the remaining 23 bags were gone.

’This is insane,’ he thought. ’Product that should have gone for 1,000 USD, I managed to hawk for almost 2,000. And from what I’ve heard, the wholesale cost for the entire batch wasn’t even 300 USD.’

One hundred bags would only last this crowd a day or two, and there were at least twenty times this many junkies on this street alone.

Clutching a pocketful of crumpled cash, he headed back toward their base.

By the time he met Scarface again, he had already separated the money.

"Boss," he said, handing Scarface a stack of bills. "I did what Xiao Fu suggested and raised the price to 15 USD a bag. The whole lot sold out in two hours."

"That fast?" Scarface chuckled, taking the money and counting it. "Looks like the fish are starving. The day after tomorrow, when their high wears off and they’ve come to their senses, you can take more. Bring 20 ounces this time. Want me to send Xiao Fu with you?"