Entry #003 – The Yacht Party Was a Trap
Everyone thought it was just another overhyped crypto launch. Open bar. Underwater drone show. A bunch of rich idiots trying to outdo each other in loafers and linen shirts.
But the guest list wasn’t mine. Basho handled that.
I should’ve known something was off when three separate photographers asked me the same question:
“Did you really build the token with him?”
By the time I saw the second drone—not the flashy underwater one, but the matte-black quad with no lights—I knew we were compromised. The music was too loud. The champagne was too cold. The smiles were rehearsed.
And then the lights cut out.
I don’t remember hitting the deck. I only remember the sound—boots, metal, and static. FBI or Fixers, maybe both. Someone shouted my name. Basho vanished.
And me?
How did I escape? Good question. I’ve replayed it so many times in my mind that even I’m not sure.
Maybe I jumped, swam in the pitch black. Left everything behind. My wallet. My phone. My old life.
They thought they’d caught me that night.
They were wrong.
