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To the cuticle, her nails were groomed with precision and care. Aqua blue and neon orange paint covered them. Both manicures and pedicures were financed with the support of her intricate heroin empire. Quintasia Batt, a 23-year-old impresaria held the Northeast Atlantic in the grip of her hand. She headed her company with the wit and tenacity usually reserved for military generals. Quintasia mastered the game of persuasion and the finer tactics in conversing with possible business partners. One such prospect was Trevor Lesane.
Fresh off his near meeting with Death, Lesane gained a new sense of what life had to offer. Some would consider the rendezvous with these two captains of industry to be mutually exclusive. As Quintasia saw the rise of profits in the legitimate sale of opiates, Lesane’s life’s work consisted of combatting what society once considered “illicit ills.” But they met anyhow. Over the five years that Quintasia climbed the ladder to her current position, Lesane had concentrated on buying shares of narcotic companies in order to secure a firm footing in these enterprises. He enjoyed it. To face leaders like Quintasia meant the he could understand the perspective of the beginnings of drug addiction. Though he worked on the opposite side of the spectrum, Lesane realized that acknowledging the root of all users was the sign of the dollar. On such a foundation, Quintasia and Lesane were on level ground. He made sure to travel in his improved Goulding, but even after his brush with fate, he still reserved a placement in line to receive a Sare Uplift. He didn’t tell Quintasia, though. The news had already reported the story. “Well, my darling you look rather fit,” Lesane greeted Quintasia with a kiss. Her diamond earrings were like glow worms; they glistened and appeared to emit light. Her $2,000 Bearden pumps and her $35,000 Barnes ox blood colored dress contrasted Lesane’s Lawrence obsidian tunic. The glass in the Batt, Twill, and Twee Opiates offices lent a transparent air to the facilities. The two moguls sat down in Quintasia's pristine office which included two caged tigers and crystal chandeliers.
“I’m so glad that you could make it in light of the scare you had the other day,” Quintasia said.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had to make some adjustments and land the thing. But enough about me. How about you, young lady? Tell me about BTTO. Where’s it headed in five years?” Lesane darted to the point. Quintasia leaned in closer from her chair.
“Well, I thought we were going to start out with, How’s Saffron and the kids, but I must remember we’re dealing with the one and only Trevor Lesane.” Lesane smiled, then straightened his countenance. Quintasia continued.
“Actually, I see growth within the suburban markets as well as an uptick in high net worth sectors. The opium that we’re receiving from Afghanistan is of much higher quality than previous shipments. Growth depends on possibly branching out or diversifying with narcotics like cocaine. I see you shaking your head….”
“No. That’s not in your rational self interest. You should remain committed to heroin. You can build off of the trade of foreign markets as well as opening up to the Midwest, South, and West. Are there any barriers to production and distribution?”
“We’ve reviewed models where the product could be utilized in Asian markets as well as Europe, Asia, and South America. We first, however, have to expand to the places around the country which you just named.”
“Is there any real competition which could threaten your share of the market?”
“Presently, no. But as you know, contenders in this unregulated sphere may spring up at any moment.”
“I trust that you will continue to remain profitable despite any shifts within this company.”
“I may be young but I’m not dumb, Mr. Lesane. I appreciate your confidence in me.”
Lesane summoned the Goulding Z-Set. “You must tour our manufacturing plant on your next visit.”
“I look forward to it,” Lesane said.