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The recent acquisition of the mansion for Arell had been a masterclass in financial maneuvering, the kind of deal that separated the truly wealthy from the merely rich.
He allowed himself a small smile as he recalled the intricacies of the transaction. The 1031 exchange had been particularly clever, deferring capital gains taxes by reinvesting the proceeds from the sale of another property. It was a move that would save Arell thousands in the long run, though explaining the concept to him had been... challenging.
"It's like trading in your old car for a new one," Geoffrey had said, "but instead of cars, we're talking about mansions, and instead of a dealership, we're dealing with the IRS."
The qualified personal residence trust was another stroke of genius. By transferring the mansion into a trust, they'd significantly reduced potential estate taxes. It was the kind of forward-thinking move that made Geoffrey indispensable.
His eyes flickered to a document detailing conservation easements. By agreeing to preserve part of the mansion's grounds in its natural state, they stood to gain substantial tax deductions. It was a win-win: good PR for Arell's image and good news for their bottom line.
Geoffrey's attention shifted to the matter of Arell's desired vehicles: a BMW M5 and a Dodge Hellcat. He'd already run the numbers on leasing them through Infinity. The Section 179 deductions for vehicles used partially for business would provide a nice tax break. Plus, having Arell seen in these high-end cars would only enhance the Infinity brand image.
Speaking of Infinity, Geoffrey pulled up the latest reports from their two-story office space. The foundation of their empire was being laid brick by brick, each decision carefully weighed and executed. The scrapyard business was a goldmine, bringing in substantial revenue. Geoffrey knew they'd need to implement more sophisticated money laundering techniques soon, but for now, it served its purpose.
He made a mental note to reach out to his contact in the Cayman Islands. It was time to set up a more robust network of shell companies. The trick, Geoffrey mused, was to create a labyrinth complex enough to deter scrutiny, yet simple enough to maintain plausible deniability.
The clothing brand side of Infinity was showing promise, with a profit of $200,000 so far. Geoffrey had intentionally throttled its growth, a move that puzzled Arell at first.
"Why slow down when we're making money?" Arell had asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
Geoffrey had patiently explained the concept of strategic growth. "It's like a fighter training for a big match," he'd said. "You don't show all your best moves in the warm-up. We're building strength, but we're keeping our true potential hidden. When the time is right, we'll unleash everything we've got."
That time, Geoffrey knew, would come with the release of Arell's mixtape. It would be their striking opportunity, a chance to catapult Infinity from a promising upstart to a major player in the industry. Geoffrey was already formulating plans, his mind racing with marketing strategies and distribution deals.
He turned his attention to the investment portfolio. The initial $100,000 investment was growing steadily, a testament to Geoffrey's financial acumen. He was also managing investments for Lil Uzi Vert and had recently been contacted by Swae Lee on Arell's recommendation.
As he considered Uzi, Geoffrey felt a familiar sense of wariness. The rapper's stage name, with its eerie similarity to Lucifer, was just the tip of the iceberg. Geoffrey had noted numerous red flags: the nature of Uzi's backers, the specifics of his contracts, the people surrounding him. It wasn't anything overt, just a series of small details that, when pieced together, formed a troubling picture.
Geoffrey had already taken steps to insulate Arell from Uzi's team.
His thoughts then turned to Cardi B, or Becalis as she was known in legal documents. Her impending debut on Love & Hip Hop was just the first step in Geoffrey's grand plan. He'd carefully orchestrated her entry into the music industry, with Infinity poised to launch her career post-reality TV fame.
Geoffrey pulled up Cardi's contract on his computer, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he admired his own handiwork. The document was a masterpiece of legal maneuvering, filled with clauses and subclauses that would make even the most seasoned entertainment lawyer's head spin.
There was the "golden parachute" clause, ensuring that if either party terminated the contract, Infinity would still profit handsomely. The "creative control" section gave Cardi the illusion of artistic freedom while subtly steering her towards Infinity's preferred direction. And the "cross-promotion" requirements essentially turned Cardi into a walking, talking billboard for the Infinity brand.
But what truly set the contract apart were the hidden clauses, the ones buried deep within the legalese. Geoffrey had included a series of seemingly innocuous phrases that, when activated, would grant Infinity unprecedented control over Cardi's career. It was like a series of trip wires, ready to be pulled at a moment's notice.
What troubled Geoffrey was the lack of legal fees in Cardi's financial records. A contract this complex should have required a team of lawyers to review, yet there was no trace of such expenses. It suggested outside legal help that wasn't being disclosed, a fact that set off alarm bells in Geoffrey's mind.
He'd considered the possibility that Cardi had backers who were using her to gain inside information on Arell and Infinity. It was a common enough tactic in the industry. But Geoffrey had prepared for this eventuality. The contract was structured in such a way that any attempt to exploit insider knowledge would trigger clauses that would be catastrophic for Cardi's career.
As for Post Malone, Geoffrey was looking forward to the upcoming Florida trip. Post's signing to Infinity had been a coup, and Geoffrey was eager to start leveraging that relationship. He'd already drafted several potential collaboration agreements between Post and Arell, each one designed to maximize exposure and profit for Infinity.
<>
The Florida sun beat down mercilessly as Jarad Higgins, known to his growing fan base as Juice WRLD, trudged up the cracked driveway of his aunt's modest single-story home in Miami Gardens. School had just let out, and the weight of his backpack, laden with untouched textbooks and crumpled papers, seemed to mirror the heaviness in his heart.
As he pushed open the front door, the cool blast of air conditioning offered momentary relief from the sweltering heat. "Ma, I'm home," he called out.
Carmela Wallace emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her eyes, filled with a mother's concern, immediately locked onto her son's slumped shoulders. "How was school, baby?"
Jarad shrugged, dropping his backpack unceremoniously by the door. "Same old, same old," he mumbled, making his way to the fridge and pulling out a can of soda.
Carmela sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Mr. Thompson called again today. Said you've been sleeping in class."
Jarad popped the tab on his soda, taking a long swig before responding. "It's not my fault his class is boring as hell," he muttered.
"Jarad Anthony Higgins," Carmela's voice took on a stern edge. "Language."
"Sorry, Ma," Jarad said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, his fingers absently tracing the patterns in the worn formica.
Carmela sat across from him, her eyes softening. "Baby, I know it's been hard since we moved here. But you've got to try. Your education is important."
Jarad nodded, but his mind was already drifting. School, with its structure and endless rules, felt like a prison. His true passion, his escape, was music. Even now, beats and melodies swirled in his head, begging to be released.
"I am trying, Ma," he said softly. "It's just... school doesn't feel like it matters. Not compared to my music."
Carmela reached across the table, taking her son's hand. "I know your music means everything to you, baby. And you've got a real gift. But you need a backup plan. The music industry is tough."
Jarad nodded again, but inside, a fire was burning. He knew in his heart that music wasn't just a dream - it was his destiny. "I got a message from Geoffrey today," he said, changing the subject. "Arell's coming to Florida in a couple days."
Carmela's eyebrows raised. "The rapper? The one from that label you've been talking about?"
"Yeah, Ma. Infinity. It's not just some label, it's the real deal. And they believe in me."
Carmela squeezed her son's hand. "I believe in you too, baby. I just worry..."
"I know, Ma," Jarad said, standing up. "I'm gonna go work on some tracks. Call me when dinner's ready?"
As he made his way to his room, Jarad's mind was already racing with possibilities. He closed the door behind him, surveying his makeshift studio. A beat-up laptop sat on a cluttered desk, surrounded by notebooks filled with lyrics. Posters of his idols - Eminem, Kid Cudi, Billy Idol - watched over him from the walls.
Jarad sat down, pulling on his headphones and firing up his music software. As he began to work on a new beat, the outside world faded away.
Hours passed in a blur of creativity. Jarad was so engrossed in his work that he barely noticed when his phone buzzed with a text from his friend Stokeley.
"Yo, Arell coming to town? We gotta link up, show him what we've been working on."
Jarad grinned, quickly typing out a reply. "Already on it, bro. I've got some fire tracks ready to go. Make sure your other friend pulls up too."
He glanced at the clock - nearly midnight. His mom would be asleep by now, probably worried sick about his future. Jarad felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it aside. One day, he promised himself, he'd make her proud. He'd show her, and the world, that his dreams weren't just pipe dreams.
He decided to take a break from his music. He quietly opened his bedroom door and padded down the hallway, careful not to wake his mom. In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water, his eyes landing on a family photo pinned to the fridge.
It was from happier times, before the move to Florida, before the struggles in school. Jarad, his mom, and his older brother were all smiling, arms around each other at a local park back in Chicago. Jarad traced his finger over the image, remembering the day vividly. They'd had a picnic, played frisbee, and for a few hours, everything had felt perfect.
Jarad sighed, leaning against the counter. He missed Chicago, missed his old friends, missed the familiarity of his hometown. Florida still felt foreign, like he was living someone else's life. But he knew his mom had moved them here for a reason - to get away from the violence and give him a better chance at life.
He opened the fridge, pulling out leftover lasagna his mom had made. As he heated it in the microwave, Jarad thought about school. He knew he was smart - his teachers had always said so - but lately, it felt impossible to focus. His mind was always on his music, on lyrics and melodies that needed to be written down before they slipped away.
As he ate, Jarad pulled out his phone, scrolling through his social media. He smiled at a meme his friend back in Chicago had sent him, then paused on a post from one of his musical idols. It was a quote about perseverance, about not giving up on your dreams. Jarad screenshotted it, making a mental note to look at it whenever he felt discouraged.
After finishing his late-night snack, Jarad headed back to his room. But instead of returning to his music, he pulled out a sketchbook from under his bed. Art had always been another outlet for him, a way to express the emotions that sometimes felt too big for words or music.
He began to sketch, his pencil moving across the paper almost of its own accord. The image that emerged was surreal - a figure trapped in a maze, reaching for a microphone that dangled just out of reach. Jarad stared at the drawing, recognizing it as a representation of his own struggles and aspirations.
As the first light of dawn began to creep through his window, Jarad finally felt his eyes growing heavy. He crawled into bed, his mind still buzzing with ideas and dreams, but his body demanding rest.
<>
Meanwhile Geoffrey was hard at work, finalizing the details for Arell's upcoming visit. He'd just gotten off the phone with a high-end security firm, arranging for a team to accompany Arell throughout his stay in Florida.
"We need to be prepared for any eventuality," Geoffrey had told the security firm's manager. "Arell's profile is rising, and with that comes increased risk."
As he reviewed the itinerary once more, Geoffrey's phone buzzed. It was a message from Arell, saying he was on his way back from meeting India. Geoffrey sighed, knowing he'd have to address this situation soon. Arell's growing fame meant increased scrutiny, and they needed to be careful about his public image.
An hour later, Arell walked into the office, looking tired but satisfied. Geoffrey wrinkled his nose slightly as Arell approached.
"You smell like sex," Geoffrey said bluntly.
Arell laughed sleepily. "Yeah, well, what can I say? India's hard to resist."
Geoffrey shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "We need to talk about that situation, but it can wait. How are you feeling about the Florida trip?"
Arell slumped into a chair across from Geoffrey's desk. "It'll be good. Where is everyone?"
"Out and about," Geoffrey replied. "Now, focus. Florida. We've got a lot to cover."
Arell nodded, sitting up a bit straighter. "Yeah, alright. What's the plan?"
Geoffrey launched into a detailed explanation of the itinerary, covering everything from the fashion show to the meetings with industry executives. As he spoke, Arell listened intently, occasionally asking questions or offering input.
"Oh, and I've arranged for you to meet with Jarad, and his friends while we're there," Geoffrey added. "They're all eager to show you what they've been working on."
Arell's eyes lit up at this. "That's great."
Geoffrey nodded in agreement. "How's the mixtape coming along?"
Arell ran a hand through his hair, his exhaustion evident. "It's coming. I've got a bunch of songs lined up, it's just a matter of choosing which ones to include. I want it to be perfect, you know?"
"I understand," Geoffrey said. "But don't let perfect be the enemy of good. We need to keep the momentum going."
Arell nodded, then yawned widely. Geoffrey's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Have you given any more thought to therapy?" he asked carefully.
Arell's expression closed off slightly. "I told you, I'll think about it."
"Will you, though?" Geoffrey pressed. "Really think about it, I mean."
Arell stood up, stretching. "Yes, I'll really think about it. Promise. Now, if there's nothing else, I'm gonna crash for a few hours.."
As Arell turned to leave, Geoffrey called out, "One more thing. I've hired additional security for the Florida trip. Given your rising profile, we need to be cautious."
Arell paused at the door, looking back at Geoffrey. For a moment, the weight of his growing fame seemed to settle on his shoulders. Then he nodded. "Whatever you think is best. You haven't steered me wrong."