Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss

James had no problem sitting in the car, but Mike did have problems, as did the other guards too.

First, they knew there was no way they could walk freely in the city with that much gear on them, but actually, they had the paper, and they were legally private security. It was done with Hector's help, who bribed an official to give them the authorization and authentication to carry guns out in public. The problem was that they looked like a SWAT team rather than a security team, and the main problem was the grenades on their pallet carriers and the ARs in their hands.

There was no way they could walk with those in the city, and second, they would get all the eyes on them in no time. So while James sat in the car and searched where the therapists were, the guards and Mike took off the pallet carriers and put bulletproof vests under their clothes, and switched to pistols and SMGs that were semi-automatic, as that was what they could legally carry without any trouble.

So when James found one therapist that he could walk in and register with, he looked up, and what he saw was different. They now looked more like Secret Service than what he usually saw. Mike looked slick with his flower-printed t-shirt and cargo shorts, and the other too was dressed casually, but of course, they were cautious. So Mike hopped in the car with a semi-auto SMG and a full-auto AR in his hand and put it on the ground, and the other guard did too, with some grenades just in case something happened.

"Boss, do you have a pistol?" Mike asked as he looked at James.

He said nothing but just pulled up his polo shirt, revealing the gun, and Mike nodded to it and not just that, but seeing the bulletproof vest too made him immediately more calm.

"Where, boss?" the driver asked as he looked at the mirror.

"Go to… Savannah Street 43." He said the address, and that was it. The convoy, consisting of four cars, rolled out of the estate heading toward the therapist James thought would be the best.

On their page, it looked like how every single one looked, warm, with pillows, with an atmosphere that just radiated positivity, with beige and bright colors. And the reviews were good too… and well, the price was a little hefty.

There were different options and different lengths, and what James decided to go with was a 30-minute talk that was 500 bucks… and he immediately knew rich people were going there because there was no way ordinary people paid that much for fucking half an hour.

What story should I make up… he thought about it, but to cover everything into something was just impossible.

He can't tell her upfront that he rules over the drug trade in the country, that he kills people and a lot of people died, that he works with the government and this whole national emergency is because of him… but then what to tell?

What's really in his heart, that is the main point of his sadness and suffering, is Rafael's death and then Marcello's. But it is nearly impossible to make up a false story, because how could he lie about the truth? How could he really express his emotions when he is just lying from the start?

If he says that it was an accident, it would just become worse, because it wasn't… it was his dumb decision. But if he tells her that Rafael was killed, then he needs to connect dots somehow, because the therapist is going to ask how it happened and what caused it.

"Mike, what should I tell them who I am?" He asked as he looked at Mike, and Mike at first didn't understand the question because he didn't know where they were going, but the question to him implied that James needs to lie about who he is.

"It's a hard one." He said as he looked at James. "I would say that you can build up a fake personality in real estate and forestry, but they can look it up and find out that's who you really are, boss." He said, and well, it made sense to James too. "So if I look at you, my first impression would be…" He eyed him from top to bottom. "First, you have signet rings on your finger, which to ordinary people means nothing, like the B on it, and you have another that has diamonds and a butterfly, which tells you have money. And your outfit is elegant and casual at the same time. So if I look at you from an outside perspective, I would say you are a new rich self-made millionaire type of guy, you're young, dress well, and have taste." He explained, and well, he surprisingly had a mind for things like this.

"I would argue with you, Mike." Suddenly from the front passenger seat, a guard spoke. "I mean, when people see a young rich man, what they think first is that he is from old money. He is only rich because of his family, and I think that is actually the better option for you, boss."

"Why do you think that?" James asked and got surprised by it, seeing how calm the guard spoke to him, and he got excited because this is what he wanted, people able to talk with him, to connect — at least his people.

"Because it doesn't need any explanation. Like if you say that you are a self-made millionaire at this young age, people will just ask so many questions about it, and they will need proof, even though you don't need to prove anything to them. So it will just cause more lies and lies, and in the end, it will just tangle up," he explained. "But if you say you are from old money, people will just, well… hate you for it. And if they ask why your family does, just lie something simple. You can say real estate, and people wouldn't ask more because they know there is a lot of money in it, or that your grandparent had a lot of land. You can say whatever you want, boss, and they will not ask about it."

That too made a lot of sense. He didn't need to explain himself because people wouldn't be bothered with it, but if he says he is self-made, people will ask how he did it… but actually, either of them could work, because he's going to a therapist, whose job is not to fucking ask how he made his money, but to help him mentally.

"Great point you two have… but I need a fake name too."

As he said it, they went silent and started thinking about it so much that Mike even started biting his fingernail like it was a million-dollar question.

What name would fit a young millionaire or what name would fit a young old money millionaire… they needed to come up with a name that was actually respectful to say to James and also sound good.

That's how the driver joined their conversation.