Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss-Chapter 45: Controll The Slums.

"James?"

His mother’s voice came.

James opened his eyes. He was still in the living room. Still on the couch. His body was drenched in sweat, his breath unsteady, his heart pounding.

"Was it a nightmare?" His mother looked at him with worry.

"Yes... it was…" James muttered, leaning forward as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hands were still shaking slightly. "What’s the time?"

"It’s exactly ten." She said softly.

James let out a slow breath, rubbing his face as he tried to shake off the nightmare.

His mother sat down beside him, her brows furrowed in concern. "You were shouting."

"Was I?" He didn’t even realize. His throat felt raw, like he had been gasping for air.

She nodded. "You called for help… and then…" Her voice wavered. "You said, ’Don’t hurt her.’"

James stiffened. His fingers curled into fists against his thighs.

His mother placed a hand on his arm. "James, are you—"

"I’m fine," he interrupted, standing up. He needed space. He needed air. "It was just a dream."

She didn’t look convinced. "James…"

But he was already walking away, heading toward the bathroom. He turned on the sink, letting cold water run over his hands before splashing it onto his face.

His reflection stared back at him in the mirror,haunted, tired, lost.

It was just a dream.

His breath hitched as he pressed his palm against his stomach again, harder this time, as if expecting pain to flare up. But there was nothing, no warmth of blood seeping through his fingers, no torn flesh, no agony.

Just the steady rise and fall of his chest.

James let out a shaky breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled up his shirt. His skin was unmarked, smooth. No wounds, no bullets, nothing. But the sensation lingered, the burn of metal piercing his body, the suffocating weight of death creeping over him.

"I swear I felt it…" he muttered under his breath, staring at his own reflection. His voice was hoarse, uncertain. He looked down again, pressing his fingers along his ribs, his stomach, his chest.

Then splashed cold water onto his face, letting the sharp chill ground him. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping from his chin. His pulse was still unsteady, his body tense as if bracing for another shot that would never come.

Suddenly a knock came.

"Hector wants to talk to you." His mother voice.

James exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of the sink. "I’m coming," he muttered.

He wiped his face with a towel, running a hand through his hair before stepping out of the bathroom. The weight of the nightmare still clung to him, an invisible wound that refused to fade.

But he pushed it down. Just like always.

Stepping into the hallway, he found his mother watching him closely. There was something in her eyes…

"What?" He asked with a forced smile.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing. Just… talk to Hector."

He nodded and made his way to the door, already preparing himself for whatever was coming next, but he didn’t expect to seeHector like that.

Hector stood tall, dressed in a new beige suit, James’ favorite color, paired with shining black elegant shoes.

"Do I look good?" Hector asked with a smile.

"Like a businessman." James answered, smiling at him.

Hector chuckled at that. "Well," he glanced at James’ mother before continuing, "let’s talk outside." He turned gesturing toward the patio.

As they stepped out, James froze for a moment. His eyes drifted to the exact spot where the man had stood in his dream, where the gun had been raised against him.

Then, slowly, he looked down at the ground, right where he had collapsed, bleeding out, and then a final shot to the head.

His chest tightened, his breathing shallow. It felt too real. The weight of the bullets, the searing pain, the helplessness. He could still hear the gunshots echoing in his head.

"James?" Hector’s voice pulled him back.

James blinked and exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering fear. "Nothing," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "Just tired."

They sat down, and Hector pulled a small notebook from his suit, placing it in front of James.

"What is it?" He asked, grabbing it and flipping it open. His mind was still foggy, still stuck in the nightmare and the pages were filled with numbers, endless rows of them. His head wasn’t ready for this.

"We only have around 250 million worth of White Magic left. And that’s it." Hector’s voice was calm, but he wouldn’t meet James’ eyes, like he was afraid of his reaction.

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"Why?" James frowned, flipping through the pages even though numbers weren’t his thing.

He didn’t answer right away, just rubbed his forehead before finally speaking.

"Well, the border war in Dennus… it’s gotten worse. They decided not to fight in the open anymore but to take it into the jungle, where those fuckers can’t see each other." He paused, glancing at James, but there was no reaction. "So, our camps and plants are in danger. They’ve already destroyed 8 out of 67."

Hector’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like he was holding something back, waiting for James to say something, to react. But James just stared at the notebook, his fingers tapping against the table, his mind still half-trapped in the nightmare from before.

"Tell me Hector what is the process of making white magic and how much time it takes?"

Hector was stunned for a moment but quickly continued, "Usually, it takes five weeks for one full rotation. That means if we calculate with the 67 camps, that’s about 100 kg per camp, so 6700 kg in total."

He paused, watching James, then went on. "The white plants, which we extract the liquid from, take around three weeks to flower. But that was never a problem because the jungle has plenty of them, so when they ran out of it just went in the jungle looking for the plants"

Hector exhaled, rubbing his head. "But now, with the jungle turning into a war zone, those plants don’t mean shit if we can’t get to them. The soldiers are burning everything—camps, crops, even the people inside. It’s all turning into ashes, James."

He flipped through the notebook again, the numbers blurring together. The supply chain was crumbling, and with it, the power that came with controlling it.

"So, what are you saying?" James finally asked, his voice calm.

Hector hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We need a new source. If the jungle is lost, we need another way to produce it, or—" He stopped, locking eyes with James again, as if gauging how far he could push. "Or we fight to keep what we have."

James let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Fight?" He rolled the word in his mouth. "With who? The military?"

Is he really saying we should fight the military? This man is willing to let more people die just for money... But if I don’t do anything, that’ll just create more problems. What do I do... Think, think…"

He turned to Hector, his voice sharp. "What’s more important than White Magic?"

Hector blinked, caught off guard by the question. "There’s nothing else that sells for this much at such a high price—"

"Think, Hector. What is more important than White Magic?" James asked again, locking eyes with him.

Hector hesitated, unable to find an answer.

"The people, Hector. In the countryside, there’s hunger and slums. For them, there is no hope left. The government doesn’t care. The people in the cities don’t care. Sure, maybe some aid groups send food, but what would happen if we helped them? What if we gave them hope?"

Hector blinked, clearly taken aback by James’ words. "You... you want to help them?"

James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I’m saying if we want to survive, we need something bigger than just selling White Magic. If we pour money into those slums, into the people, we aren’t just running a business, we’re creating something untouchable."

Hector frowned, still trying to process. "You want to buy the people’s loyalty?"

James scoffed. "Loyalty, trust, power—call it whatever you want. But if we give them food, shelter, jobs… if we make them rely on us instead of a government that doesn’t give a damn, then we control something far greater than drugs."

And at least my name will have something good attached to it. Helping those who were left to rot in a desperate place… giving them something to hold on to.

But it was only for James because Hector’s mind was already calculating the cost… the cost of making not white magic, but something more popular, something that took over the market—Greenweed.

Smoke it like a cigarette, and you get high. The cost of making it was far less than white magic, and people buy it like candy....more than candy, it popular among even the poor, and all ages.

And the slums, the place of despair where even the police wouldn’t go, were the perfect place to hide a plantation.

Hector looked with a big smile at James. "Understood. Only one thing that is worries me, If we just leave the market, there’s going to be a shift in power, a shift that will make the underworld rumble. We are the only ones selling pure white magic, everyone else mixes it."

"Pump up the price. Make it so high that even the richest will know it’s a rip-off." James said simply.

"Why?" Hector looked confused.

"Because they’re addicted. They want ours because it’s the best. You said 250 million? Make it a billion. Raise it so high that even you will laugh, and they will still buy it. And if more comes in from the camps before they get destroyed or seized, sell those too. This is our goodbye to the market."

Hector stared for a moment, letting the words sink in. Then, a slow smirk formed on his lips.

"I will make a detailed plan."

"Do it." James said, getting up and walking back to the house.

Hector just smiled, staring at him as he went.

Because in his mind, James wasn’t just quitting a market that brought in billions—no, he was doing it on purpose. To shake the market. And then… make a comeback.

A comeback that will make him the history’s biggest drug lord.

Then picked up his phone. It was time to raise the price—and watch the world burn.