You were Cornell ‘Cottonmouth’s’ younger sister, tasked with looking after the club Harlem’s Paradise after his arrest. To say you were up to your neck in stress was an understatement. You were sat at your brothers desk in his bourgeois office, sipping a drink, a tear slipping down your cheek from the stress. The door cracks open, and you see the man who had been working with your brother enter. He shuts the door, looking at you through his sunglasses.

“You alright, sweet pea?” He asks casually