All the bills looked new, without a single wrinkle or discoloration on Benjamin Franklin's face... aside from, of course, the wrinkles on Franklin's face.
Checking my surroundings once again, I slammed the briefcase shut as if continuing to look at the bills were dangerous. Carefully, forcing myself to act as discreetly as possible, I got out of my car, storing the briefcase in the trunk next to my gym bag.
Theoretically, I had held more than twice that amount of money in my hands with the check Meemaw had given me a long time ago, but seeing the bills, and knowing I had one hundred thousand dollars in cash, for some reason felt more impressive.
Looking around to see if anyone had seen me, I got back into my car. Not long after, I drove off the hospital grounds.
Tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music I had put on to distract my mind, I found myself checking the rearview mirror more than once, nervous for a reason I couldn't explain but that obviously had to do with the money.
When I arrived outside the gym and parked my car, the briefcase with one hundred thousand dollars was still on my mind despite being an incredible gift, it was also a problem when it came to taxes.
I seriously doubted that the organization the brothers belonged to had given me one hundred thousand dollars in legitimate funds, so I had no way to justify that money in an audit. I couldn't just say that a mafia family had given it to me, right?
So deep in thought, still sitting behind the wheel, "What?" I asked, jumping in surprise when someone knocked on my window.
Outside my car, Mr. Sanderson, a man who often came to the gym to train in boxing, greeted me with a friendly smile.
Slightly embarrassed. "Mr. Sanderson," I said, getting out of my car.
"Hey, Champ. Didn't mean to scare you," Mr. Sanderson said, patting my shoulder.
"Don't worry," I replied. "I was a bit lost in my thoughts," I added with an embarrassed smile.
Laughing dryly. "Ah we've all been there, trouble with your lady?" he asked, shaking his head.
"Wha- no," I answered immediately, surprised at how quickly the man's mind had jumped to that conclusion.
"All right, I believe you," the man said theatrically, clearly thinking I was lying. "You still with that smart blonde with glasses?" he added, interested.
"Diane, yes."
Mr. Sanderson nodded with a big smile on his face. "Good, she's a good one," he said, pointing at me seriously. "Let me give you a piece of advice for what's not going on," he added significantly, raising his eyebrows. "What always works for me when I mess up is a bouquet of roses and a foot massage. For now, you can go with the bouquet," he declared, patting my shoulder.
Surprised by the unexpected mental image, "Okay," I murmured, nodding slowly.
Spreading his arms, Mr. Sanderson said, "You just need to show that chivalry isn't dead," confidently.
"Well, thanks for the advice," I said, lowering my head slightly. I didn't really need it, but I suppose it's good to know.
"For you, Champ, anytime," the man replied, continuing on his way. "Time to sculpt the body, see you inside?" he added, shaking his protruding belly.
"Sure," I replied.
Opening my car's trunk, the briefcase immediately caught my attention, reminding me why I had been so distracted earlier. Grabbing my backpack, I quickly shut the trunk and walked away, checking to see if anyone had seen without me noticing.
During that day's training, I couldn't stop thinking about the money and what I'd have to do to make sure it wouldn't become a problem, causing me to make a couple of small and stupid mistakes I normally wouldn't have made.
Case, noticing these mistakes, decided the best course of action was to force me to focus by fighting me.
By the end of the workout, with my body sore and my limbs barely functioning, I left the gym limping, completely exhausted.
Patting my shoulder as he walked out behind me, "That was some brutal training, Champ," Mr. Sanderson said, clearly feeling sorry for me.
Pretending that the man's pats didn't hurt my, at that moment, incredibly sensitive shoulder. "Yeah," I replied in a whisper.
"And all on a day like today," the man said, shaking his head slightly.
Before I could ask what he meant, Mr. Sanderson pointed to the other side of the gym, where the small convenience store was, smiling.
"You're in luck, there are still roses," the man declared, reminding me of the earlier misunderstanding.
Sighing, without the energy or motivation to explain the situation, I silently said goodbye to the man and walked to the store.
Outside the store, dozens of plants, including several types of flowers, were on sale. Grabbing a couple of bouquets of roses, I walked into the store.
Mrs. Santos, an older woman of Latin descent, smiled excitedly when she saw me. "PJ," she said, "just got out of training?" she asked, surely noticing how I was limping.
Sighing. "Yes ma'am," I replied with a sigh, placing the flowers on the counter.
"Roses, an apology for Diane?" the woman asked.
"No, it's jus " I was explaining, but stopped suddenly, surprised by the woman's knowledge. "Have I introduced Diane to you?" I asked, confused.
"Oh no, Connie told us the story between you two, very romantic," Mrs. Santos explained with a wide smile.
"Okay," I murmured, slightly uncomfortable. "How much do I owe you?" I asked, not sure how to react properly.
"Thirty dollars," the woman replied, tilting her head slightly, seemingly apologetically about the price.
To be honest, the price caught me by surprise. It cost about the same to fill up my gas tank... But, I had come into some cash, so I could definitely afford it.
Paying easily with my legal money, I left with the two bouquets of flowers in my hands.
Before I could fully leave the store, "Tell Case to visit me every now and then," the woman said shamelessly.
Mrs. Santos, like a few others especially members of the church had initially had some 'reservations' about Case working and living in the small commercial area. Luckily, Case was usually kind to everyone he didn't train and showed even more patience with the elderly.
Besides that, it probably helped that he was a man made almost entirely of lean muscle and was competently trained in martial arts, which served as an excellent deterrent for petty criminals.
Nodding seriously. "I'll tell him," I replied immediately.
I wasn't going to.
Some time later I arrived home, still debating inside 'Debbie' whether to bring the briefcase in or not. In the end, to avoid any questions from Mom, I decided to enter the house without it.
Inside the house, Mom was on the living room couch playing with Charlie. "PJ, how was your day?"
"Pretty good," I replied. "I got you this," I added, stretching out one of the bouquets.
Pleasantly surprised, "Oh honey, you shouldn't have," Mom said, immediately snatching the flowers from my hand. "These are beautiful."
Sighing at how quickly she had grabbed the flowers from me, "I'm glad you like them," I said, bending down to make silly faces at Charlie, who immediately reached out to try to touch my face.
"Thank you so much," Mom said, getting up to give me a hug over the couch.
"It's nothing, Mom," I replied, hugging the woman with my free arm.
Noticing the other bouquet in my hand, "Those are for Diane?" Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, as a thank-you for her help with the paper," I explained easily. With Mr. Sanderson's advice, I had realized that aside from some words and co-authorship, I hadn't really given Diane anything for all her help with the statistical analysis.
Frowning, "Oh no," Mom said, upset.
"What?" I asked, concerned.
"The flowers are beautiful, which means they reminded you of her," she declared seriously. "And about the paper you're going to take her to a fancy dinner to thank her."
Puzzled, since I didn't understand the problem with giving Diane flowers as a thank-you, I looked at Mom in silence for a couple of seconds, trying to think of a reason.
Rolling her eyes in frustration, "I can't believe all the Duncans are the same," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "You don't want your girlfriend to think you only give her flowers for special occasions, you have to give her flowers at unexpected moments, be spontaneous, she's going to love that, I promise."
Nodding. "Okay," I said, thinking about Mom's words.
"Once you give her the flowers and she thanks you excitedly, then you invite her to dinner. Why? For being an amazing girlfriend and helping you with your work," Mom said obviously.
"Got it," I said resolutely.
"Now, go take a shower and then go with Diane, you stink," Mom ordered.
"It's not that bad," I said, slightly offended, leaning in to smell myself. I definitely smelled like sweat.
Without sweat, and smelling good after taking a shower, I left the house with the bouquet of flowers headed to Meemaw's house.
A moment after knocking on the door, "Aces," said Meemaw as she opened, "sure," she added, closing the door in my face without waiting for me to say anything.
A few seconds later, the door opened again, this time with Diane on the other side. "Hey," she said immediately smiling, "what do you have there?" she asked with a curious expression.
"Hey you," I responded, pulling the roses from behind my back. "These are for you," I declared with theatrical gallantry, handing her the bouquet.
Taking the roses and looking at them puzzled, "Thank you," Diane said, tilting her head. "Are they for the paper?" she asked, smiling softly.
Yes.
"No, they just reminded me of you," I replied, remembering what mom had said.
Shaking her head slightly, "Why?" Diane asked immediately.
"Because they're absolutely beautiful, just like you," I responded right away.
Gently exhaling, Diane raised the roses, covering the lower half of her face.
Moving the flowers from her face, allowing me to see a slight blush, "Is that from a movie?" Diane asked.
"Probably yes," I replied, shrugging, "but that doesn't mean I don't truly mean it."
Lightly biting her lip, Diane shook her head and leaned forward until her forehead rested against my chest.
Nice job mom.
After a few seconds absorbed in the hug, "I was thinking," I murmured, "we should celebrate finishing the paper by going out to a nice restaurant, just you and me."
"I would like that yes," Diane responded, still keeping her face against my chest.
Talking about things of absolutely no importance, Diane and I spent time on Meemaw's porch until Meemaw called Diane in for dinner.
At home, after dinner, I approached Bob before he went to the garage with Gabe. That night I wouldn't be training with them.
"What's up?" Bob asked, surprised, since I had made sure no one noticed us leaving the house.
As we walked to my car. "So... there's this patient," I explained slowly.
"Okay," Bob murmured, clearly not understanding.
"I don't want you to worry or for mom to worry," I said, raising my hands to get his attention, "although I really doubt she won't find out tomorrow or in the next few days," I added, scratching my neck—after all, mom still had contact with the hospital nurses, "the patient is a mobster."
Bob stopped in his tracks. It took him a couple of seconds to process what I had said. "Did you offend him somehow? Or House?" he asked nervously.
"No, actually quite the opposite," I assured him quickly.
Walking again. "Oh," Bob murmured.
"Actually, House got gifted a car," I said as we reached 'Debbie'.
"A car, really?" Bob asked, surprised. "Which one?" he added, interested.
"A '65 Corvette, restored," I replied, remembering what House had told me.
Bob whistled, tilting his head, impressed. "Good for him."
"Yeah," I murmured, nodding. "He wasn't the only one who got something." I opened the trunk.
There it was, right where I had left it. The briefcase gleamed under the dim streetlamp light, as ominous as when I had found it in the hospital parking lot.
Bob, with surprising speed, placed a hand on my shoulder. Pointing at the briefcase, he swallowed. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked nervously.
"If what you think is that it's a lot of money, specifically a hundred thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, then yes, yes it is," I said, opening the briefcase. "If you thought it was something else... then no," I added a moment later, unable to help it, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the silence that followed after opening the briefcase.
Bob, completely silent, stared at the bills. Mouth open, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, he stretched out his free hand and lifted the corner of one of the stacks, letting the bills flow.
"Oh my God," he finally murmured, "I've never seen so much money in one place," he added, looking at me with eyes wide open.
Nodding, fully understanding the feeling. "I know."
"Who else knows about this?" he asked, nervously checking our surroundings.
"Besides you and me, whoever put the briefcase in my car," I replied, pressing my lips.
Covering his mouth in disbelief. "I see..." he murmured, "so, is it just a gift of appreciation?" he asked, worried.
"That's the theory I have for now," I said, shrugging. "On top of the briefcase, there was just a note: 'nice car.'"
"Nothing like 'we expect a favor in return' or anything like that?" Bob asked, probably immediately thinking of mobster movies, like I did when I found the briefcase.
"Nothing. No awkwardly long handshake, no hug with whispered threats included, or a kiss that apparently means you're going to die. Just a briefcase on the driver's seat with a note stuck to it," I said, looking at his still incredulous face.
Bob rocked back and forth in silence, thoughtful.
Finally, after a few seconds that felt like hours, he nodded with determination. "All right, what do you want to do with this?" he asked seriously, pointing at the briefcase.
"I don't know, what do you think I should do?" I asked.
"The way I see it, you have a few options," Bob said slowly. "First, we get rid of the money, bury it in the yard, and forget about it completely."
"Or?" I asked, noticing how Bob seemed increasingly excited.
"Or, we find a way to turn part of that illegal money into legal money," Bob said expectantly. "You know, like Scarface and The Untouchables."
"Yeah," I murmured, having no idea what Bob was talking about.
"The gym won't work. We can't involve Case in this," he murmured. "So I'll have to make up some clients," he added quietly, smiling slightly.
"Make up some clients?" I whispered, incredulous. "Aren't you enjoying this a little too much?" I asked, uncomfortable.
Bob paused to think for a second, moving his head uncertainly. "Maybe," he replied. "So what do you want to do?" he asked, seriously.
Thinking about it for a moment, leaning against the open trunk. "Isn't it dangerous?" I asked, worried.
Nodding. "It definitely is," Bob replied immediately. "But I'm the sole owner of the company, and my books are incredibly easy to alter," he added, nodding. "I've thought about this a lot."
Narrowing my eyes. "I don't think that makes me feel better, to be honest," I said slowly.
"Yeah, I know," he admitted, nodding. "All right, that settles it. Saturday morning we bury the briefcase in the yard," he added a moment later, slamming it shut.
"Yeah," I said, rocking on my feet.
It was incredibly dangerous to use that money. It wasn't worth it. After all, it was just a hundred thousand dollars... yeah, just a hundred thousand dollars.
Bob and I stood in silence, just staring at the briefcase inside the open trunk for several seconds.
"So..." I said, slightly unsure. "I'm actually running low on cash," I added, narrowing my eyes.
I certainly had all the investment money, and the gym was about to get out of the red, but I didn't have much liquidity after buying it.
Clenching his jaw, "Oh, we could just 'clean up' a couple thousand," Bob offered. "See how hard it is... you know, test the waters," he added, shrugging.
"Yeah yeah, maybe two or three thousand dollars," I said, tilting my head.
"That's like just five full jobs," Bob said calmly.
"In a whole month, how hard is it to make up five clients?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
Snorting. "Oh it's incredibly easy," Bob replied.
"All right," I murmured.
"Yeah."
"Then this month I'll do twenty full jobs instead of fifteen," Bob declared, raising his shoulders without concern.
"Fifteen full jobs a month?" I asked, surprised, and maybe a little embarrassed since I didn't really know much about Bob's job. "Great work Dad," I said, lightly tapping his arm.
"Bahg..." he exclaimed, downplaying the situation. "That's really not counting the rest of the jobs like basic insect extermination or rodent control," he added a second later, in a low voice, smiling arrogantly.
Trying hard not to laugh. "Wow," I said, exaggeratedly surprised.
"I know, I know," Bob said, nodding. "And that could've been your life too... if you weren't a weird genius for medicine."
"I'm sorry," I murmured, disappointed.
Hugging me tightly. "It's okay son," Bob said, clearing his throat, "I still have Gabe," he added, shrugging.
"What about Teddy?" I asked, interested.
Laughing exaggeratedly. "Oh haven't you seen her run after seeing a spider?" he asked.
The next day, waking up early with my alarm, I got ready to head out for my morning run.
Gabe, who had long since started waking up without my help, stayed sitting on his bed, staring at the floor.
"What's wrong?" I asked, lightly kicking one of his feet.
Slowly lifting his face. "Today is officially the first day of summer vacation," he replied seriously, "and I'm awake before the sun's up," he added, pointing to the window.
"Good for you," I said proudly.
Placing his hand on his chest, "Good?" he asked, offended. "I'm ten years old, I'm supposed to be asleep until noon," he added disdainfully. "What am I supposed to do when I get back from running?" he asked, raising his arms.
That was actually a very good question.
"The first thing you need to do when you get back is take a bath, but after that I guess you can do whatever you want to do, it's your vacation," I said, shrugging my shoulders.
"Oh that's a great answer," he said sarcastically. "How come I didn't think of that?" he added, keeping his face completely expressionless.
Raising my arms. "Hey, I'm not the one with the problem," I defended myself immediately.
Letting himself fall, Gabe sighed as he hit his bed.
"Look, I just have a couple of exams today and then I'm heading home," I said while tying my shoelaces. "So, what do you say if to celebrate the beginning of summer break we go and do something before I have to go to the hospital?" I offered, shrugging again.
Lifting his head, interested. "Like what?" Gabe asked.
"Anything you want, we'll have a couple of hours," I replied, getting up from my bed.
Sitting up again. "All right," Gabe murmured. "Just you and me, right?"
"Yeah," I replied, smiling calmly.
"Okay," Gabe murmured, nodding.
Grabbing his foot. "Now get up, we're late," I said, pulling him.
"Stop!" exclaimed Gabe, kicking me with his free foot.
Quickly grabbing the other foot, I dragged Gabe out of his bed.
"Let me go," he urged, moving his body.
"All right, get ready fast," I said, letting go of his feet suddenly. "What did you say?" I asked threateningly, because Gabe had mumbled something while getting up.
"Nothing," Gabe replied, frowning.
"No no, if you have something to say, say it," I declared, smiling arrogantly.
"I didn't say anything," Gabe said, pressing his lips.
"Really?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "Because if you want to say something, I'm all ears," I added, spreading my arms.
"You're all butt," he muttered while changing clothes.
"I mean, I'm all right, but thanks," I said jokingly, a joke, that judging by his expression, Gabe clearly didn't get.
Still, he got up and started getting dressed, muttering under his breath the whole time. At the moment I finished waking my body completely, he was already ready.
Little later we go to our daily run.
Like I told Gabe, after finishing my final exams in math and history I went back home, where I found him watching TV practically melted into the couch. Keeping my promise, we went out for ice cream and, finding nothing else to do, I just drove around town.
After dropping Gabe off at home, I left again for the hospital.
As soon as I passed through the hospital's main doors, I headed to the reception desk where Mandy had called me. The nurse, sipping coffee, was flipping through papers on her desk.
Keeping her eyes on the papers. "Morning, doc," she said, smiling conspiratorially, lowering her voice like we were undercover agents.
Leaning on the desk, not really sure what to do. "Morning, Mandy," I replied with a tired smile.
Before I could ask anything, Mandy leaned even closer over the counter.
"Vogler is still in Dr. Cuddy's office," she said, lowering her voice even more, like revealing an enemy movement in the middle of a secret war. "Emma, Dr. Cuddy's secretary, told us they're reviewing all of House's paperwork. Vogler wants to get rid of House but Dr. Cuddy is doing everything she can to keep him."
I crossed my arms, nodding silently as the weight of the information settled in my head. This was more than just an administrative visit or a routine check. It was obvious that Vogler, a guy clearly thirsty for power and control, wanted House out, who with his arrogance and disregard for authority, was the perfect target.
But what unsettled me wasn't just that. I mean, from the moment I met Vogler it was clear he wouldn't get along with House. The problem was Dr. Cuddy. If they were in the process of reviewing House's entire record together, it meant she wasn't in a position to simply protect him like always. If she had to justify his presence, defend his position... then things were worse than we thought. If House went down, the department would go down with him. And although I'd never admit it out loud, without House, we were nothing. I would have no one to learn from at the hospital.
"Is there something else?" I asked, noticing how Mandy was still leaning over her papers, seemingly kindly offering silence so I could process her first piece of information.
"Yes, about your patient," she continued immediately with a smile that revealed how much she enjoyed this. "Lilly, you know, the nurse from the third floor, overheard the feds arguing among themselves," she added, wiggling her eyebrows. "The bald agent received three thousand dollars from somewhere, and no one knows why or from whom."
I opened my eyes, surprised. "Three thousand dollars?"
"Uh-huh," she replied, satisfied, taking a sip of coffee. "Obviously it was the mobsters."
Yeah, that was pretty obvious, but why?
"Thanks, Mandy," I said sincerely, despite how the woman treated the situation like a game, the information was extremely important.
Like Alan had told me, "An uninformed person is like a blind man on uneven ground" or something like that.
"Always at your service," she said, winking before returning to her papers with a smile on her lips.
I said goodbye with a slight gesture and continued on my way to the lounge.
Inside I found House, surprisingly wearing a pressed shirt and generally looking clean. Even more surprising, his lab coat, which I usually wore in the clinic, was hanging on the back of his chair, clearly ready to be used.
"Woah, are you going on a date?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yeah, with your mom," he replied immediately while tying a tie.
"Come on," I said, offended, hanging my backpack on the usual hook.
Since that week at school was really just about final evaluations, my backpack was much emptier than usual, with only a few books I had taken from House's shelf and Vogler's documents hidden at the bottom.
"If you're not ready for the rodeo, don't get on the bull," declared House, smiling arrogantly.
Snorting. "What?" I murmured.
Taking his lab coat. "Yeah, exactly," House replied as if that were a sufficient answer. "How does one use this?" he asked, feigning intrigue while raising the coat.
"You put your arms through those two holes," I replied, playing along.
Moving the coat like it was a strange object. "Oh," he exclaimed upon 'finding' the holes where the arms go.
Possibly for the first time since I arrived at the hospital with his coat on, House walked out of his office.
I paused for a second. "Oh, he found out what Vogler and Dr. Cuddy have been discussing," I murmured a moment later, finally reaching the most plausible conclusion.
Even I had just found out that same day, and that was with the help of the only information network in the hospital.
Taking a book from House's shelf, I sat in one of the empty chairs in the lounge. No more than ten minutes had passed when the door opened and the four doctors entered, all of them looking, to some degree, frustrated, even House, who as if it were the most uncomfortable thing in the world, immediately took off his lab coat.
"What's going on?" I asked, puzzled.
"Joey is back in a coma," Cameron answered seriously.
"Oh," I murmured, closing the book.
Now without his coat, moving his arms as if the coat had prevented him from moving them properly, House walked over to his whiteboard, staring at the four things written on it.
Starting the usual process. "He's stable, but comatose," said Chase to the room.
"Worse than before, he's on a ventilator," replied Dr. Foreman.
"Question is, why?" asked House. "It's not his brain, it's not a toxin," he said, crossing off items one by one on the board. "Taking him off the interferon helped with that one," he added, crossing off 'liver'. "So what else?"
"The hepatitis," Chase responded immediately, making House turn, exasperated. Sitting up straight in his chair, "We never really treated it," Chase defended himself quickly. "We stopped the interferon when it started poisoning his liver."
"Am I gonna have to write a song about it?" House asked. "His chronic hep was not bad enough to produce these symptoms."
"The estrogen level indicates it is," declared Dr. Foreman.
"It indicates something else entirely," House immediately denied.
"We can't give him interferon now, there are still traces of the lozenges in his system," said Cameron. "It'll just poison him again."
"Genetics," Chase spoke up suddenly. "We don't treat the virus, we change it. Nonnucleoside allosteric inhibitor," he added, making Dr. Foreman laugh.
"It's never been tried on a human being, it'll kill him," he declared.
"What's the difference? He's dead without it," Chase murmured, wiping the smile off Dr. Foreman's face.
"They're running a trial on dogs at UT Southwestern Medical Center," Dr. Foreman said after a second. "I'll make the call."
With the apparent decision to go ahead with Chase's treatment, the three doctors under House's command stood up, ready to leave the room.
"What else could cause his estrogen level to be that high?" House asked, abruptly stopping the three doctors.
Nothing.
"Nothing," Cameron replied.
With a small nod from House, the three doctors exited the room one after another, leaving House still standing in front of the board, spinning the marker between his fingers impatiently, and me alone in the room.
The estrogen level was still the only data point that didn't fit, no matter how many theories we tried to throw on top of it. Interferon, hepatitis, liver damage... nothing truly explained such a high level on its own.
There was no plausible explanation for how the estrogen level had gone up so much by itself... wait.
Leaning forward, I lowered my gaze, letting the idea slowly spin around in my head. There were hundreds of supplements used to intensify sexual pleasure. Some with hormonal effects, even some that altered the balance of testosterone and estrogen if used for too long or in high doses. Aphrodisiacs, sold as "performance enhancers," illegal or unregulated, but for a mobster, what kind of problem would that be?
It was obvious that Joey was gay, at least to those of us who had no issue with it.
Resting my elbows on the table, staring into nothing, as if the answer were hidden there.
It wasn't anything unusual. You just had to know where to look. Clubs, shady stores, word of mouth... often those supplements didn't have clear labels. Sometimes they came in recycled containers or with generic branding. And sometimes they were sold in Chinese medicine shops.
I looked up just as House slowly turned toward me, his expression serious, as if he knew exactly what had just crossed my mind.
"You're thinking something, aren't you?" he asked.
I nodded slowly.
"Estrogen doesn't just show up," I said, "someone had to put it there, I'm betting on the patient himself."
House tilted his head, thinking for a second, and a moment later a small smile began to form on his lips.
"Boys and their toys," he murmured, and without saying anything else, he began to walk out of the room.
---
Author Thoughts:
As always, I'm not American, not a doctor, not a fighter, not Magnus Carlsen, not Michael Phelps, not Arsene Lupin, not McLovin, not Elliot and not Capone.
Another chapter has passed, so new thanks are in order. I would like to especially thank:
11332223
RandomPasserby96
Victor_Venegas
I think that's all. As always, if you find any errors, please let me know, and I'll correct them immediately.
Thank you for reading! :D
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