08/19/2026
THE GREEDY BOSS.
EPISODE 5.
That night, Dante sat at Mama Louise's kitchen table with his sister Jasmine and explained everything. The lease. The Chen Zhao contract. The plan.
Jasmine listened without interrupting, which was unusual for her. When he finished, she said, "So you're really doing this. Going independent."
"Yeah."
"And you think you can make it work."
"I know I can."
Mama Louise had been quiet through the whole explanation. Now she put her hand over Dante's. "Baby, you know I support you. But this is dangerous. That water already took your father. I can't lose you too."
"You won't," Dante said. "Mama, I've been diving since I was eighteen. I know the Gulf better than I know this city. And I'm not doing this to be reckless. I'm doing this because it's the only way we're ever going to get out from under Derek's shadow."
"What about Derek?" Jasmine asked. "When he finds out you leased the Graveyard, he's going to lose his mind."
"Let him."
"Dante—"
"He can't touch me," Dante said. "The lease is legal. The contract with Chen is legal. I'm not working his waters, not using his equipment, not breaking any rules. All I'm doing is the job I was born to do."
Jasmine was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "You're going to need help."
"I got Tony. And Pops is advising."
"I'm not talking about diving. I'm talking about the business side." She pulled out her laptop. "Accounting, contracts, licensing, taxes, equipment purchases. You're good underwater, Dante. But you don't know anything about running a company."
"And you do?"
"I'm getting a degree in business administration, aren't I?" She opened a spreadsheet. "I've already started building you a budget. Equipment costs, fuel, insurance, dock fees, crew wages. If you're doing this, you're doing it right."
Dante looked at his little sister—not so little anymore at twenty-one—and felt pride swell in his chest. "You'd do that?"
"We're family," Jasmine said simply. "Besides, someone's gotta make sure you don't go broke in the first month."
"What about school?"
"I'll manage. My classes are mostly in the mornings. I can work for you in the afternoons." She looked at him seriously. "But I want a real salary. Not pennies. If I'm going to be your CFO, I want to be paid like one."
"Deal," Dante said. "Fifteen percent of net profits."
Jasmine's eyes widened. "Fifteen percent?"
"You're family. And this is our company. Not just mine. Ours."
Mama Louise started crying. Happy tears this time. "Your father would be so proud of both of you."
Wait guys, you won't believe what is coming up next, it's going to make you want to jump through the screen and cheer. Dante's about to make his first solo dive into the Graveyard, and this is me saying, what he brings up is going to change the whole thing. Leave me a comment and tell me guys if you think Dante's making the right move right now or if he should've just taken Derek to the police. please I want to hear your thoughts.
The thing about the Gulf of Mexico that most people don't understand is that she's moody.
Some days she's calm as a bathtub. Other days she's trying to kill you.
The day Dante made his first official dive as an independent salvage operator, she was somewhere in between.
Tony piloted the boat—a thirty-two-foot vessel Dante had rented from a guy in Chalmette who owed Pops a favor. Not fancy, but it had a working engine and a functional dive platform, which was all that mattered.
"You sure about this?" Tony asked for probably the twentieth time.
"Stop asking me that," Dante said, checking his equipment. New oxygen tanks—double redundancy system. New depth gauge. New regulator. Everything inspected three times because he wasn't taking any chances.
"It's just that the last time you went down there, you passed out and nearly died."
"I was down there too long last time. Today I'm following protocol. Twenty-five minutes max at depth, then controlled ascent with decompression stops. By the book."
"Your father probably said the same thing."
Dante stopped. Looked at Tony. "You trying to psych me out?"
"I'm trying to make sure you come back up," Tony said. "Because if you die down there, your grandmother's going to kill me. And honestly, Mama Louise scares me more than the Gulf."
Despite everything, Dante laughed. "Fair point."
The coordinates Chen Zhao had sent were for a collapsed oil platform support structure about a quarter mile from where the Lucky Lady rested. The equipment Chen needed recovered was a specialized drilling apparatus—expensive, high-tech, and sitting at two hundred and eighty feet down.
Easier than the casino boat. Shallower. Less time at depth.
Dante could do this in his sleep.
He pulled on his mask, gave Tony a thumbs-up, and dropped into the water.
The Gulf welcomed him like an old friend. Cold, dark, infinite.
Dante descended through the familiar layers. Sunlight zone. Twilight zone. The deep where his lights were the only thing between him and total darkness.
Two hundred feet.
Two hundred and fifty.
Two hundred and eighty.
There.
The collapsed platform structure was a twisted mess of metal and cable, half-buried in silt. And caught in the wreckage, exactly where Chen's specs said it would be, was the drilling apparatus.
Dante got to work.
Attaching cables. Rigging the pulley system. Clearing debris.
The work was methodical. Careful. This wasn't treasure hunting—this was precision salvage, and one wrong move could bring the whole structure down on his head.
Fifteen minutes in, he had the apparatus secured and ready to lift.
That's when he saw the cargo container.
It was half-buried in the sand, just beyond the platform wreckage. Fifty-three feet long, standard shipping size. The kind that fell off container ships during storms and sank to the bottom.
Dante checked his dive computer. Eight minutes left at depth.
He should surface. Stick to the plan. Come back later for the container.
But something made him swim closer.
The container's door was partially open. And inside, Dante could see crates. Dozens of them.
He squeezed through the opening, lights cutting through the darkness.
Electronics. High-end electronics. Laptops, tablets, servers. All waterlogged now, but the components inside—the rare earth metals, the processors, the specialized chips—still valuable.
His father's map had mentioned a container spill. Estimated value: $290K.
This was it.
Dante marked the coordinates on his GPS, took photos with his underwater camera, then started his ascent. His computer was beeping—five minutes at depth, time to go.
He surfaced right on schedule.
Tony was waiting on the platform, looking relieved. "You good?"
"Better than good," Dante said, pulling himself onto the boat. "I got Chen's equipment, plus I found the shipping container from my dad's map. We're going to need a bigger boat."
Chen Zhao met Dante at the Port of New Orleans three days later to inspect the recovered drilling apparatus. He was a short man, maybe five-foot-six, but he carried himself like someone much taller. Expensive suit. Sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Impressive work," Chen said, examining the equipment. "No damage. Clean recovery. You delivered ahead of schedule."
"That's the plan with every job," Dante said.
Chen smiled. "I like confidence. Especially when it's backed by competence." He handed Dante a check. "One hundred and fifty thousand, as agreed. Plus a bonus—ten thousand for early delivery."
Dante stared at the check. One hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
More money than he'd made in two years working for Derek.
"Mr. Cross," Chen said. "I'm going to be direct with you. I've been watching the Gulf salvage industry for a long time. There's talent, and then there's exceptional talent. You're the latter."
"Thank you, sir."
"I'd like to propose a partnership. Long-term. I provide the capital for equipment and expansion. You provide the expertise and labor. We split profits sixty-forty. You take sixty."
Dante's heart started pounding. "You're offering me a business partnership?"
"I'm offering you a chance to build an empire," Chen said. "I have clients all over the Gulf Coast who need deep-water recovery work. Oil companies, shipping corporations, government contracts. Right now I have to subcontract that work because I don't have divers skilled enough. But with you? We could dominate this market."
"Why sixty-forty in my favor?" Dante asked. "Most partnerships split fifty-fifty."
"Because I'm not the one risking my life at three hundred feet underwater," Chen said simply. "You are. The person taking the real risk deserves the larger share. That's fair business."
Fair business.
Derek had never once used those words.
"I need to think about it," Dante said.
"Of course. Take your time. But Dante?" Chen's expression was serious now. "In this industry, there are two kinds of people. Those who exploit talent, and those who invest in it. I built Gulf Logistics from one boat thirty years ago because people invested in me when I was young and hungry. I'm offering you the same thing. Don't let past betrayals make you too afraid to trust the right people."
That night, Dante sat on the front porch of Mama Louise's shotgun house with a bottle of Abita beer and his father's notebook.
The street was quiet. Neighbor's TV playing through an open window. Somewhere down the block, someone was grilling—he could smell charcoal and andouille sausage.
Normal New Orleans sounds. Home sounds.
"You've been sitting out here for two hours," a voice said.
Dante turned. Simone Baptiste stood at the bottom of the porch steps, wearing scrubs from her shift at Tulane Medical Center.
Simone had lived three houses down since they were kids. They'd grown up together—played in the streets during second-lines, survived Hurricane Katrina in the same shelter, graduated from the same high school.
She'd been in love with him since they were sixteen. He'd been too stupid to notice until they were twenty-three.
And then her father had drowned.
Simone had watched it happen. Watched her father, a volunteer rescuer, get swept away trying to save people during a flood. She'd been trapped in rising water, screaming for help, and her father had died getting to her.
She hadn't spoken a word since.
Not physically couldn't—the doctors said there was nothing wrong with her vocal cords. Psychologically couldn't. Selective mutism, they called it. The trauma had locked her voice away somewhere she couldn't reach.
Now she communicated through writing and sign language.
She pulled out her phone, typed: Heard you quit Derek. Everyone's talking about it.
"Yeah," Dante said. "I'm on my own now."
Good. He was using you.
"I know."
She sat down next to him on the steps, pulled out her phone again: You look stressed. Big decision?
"Someone offered me a partnership. Business partnership. Sixty-forty split in my favor, he provides capital, I provide the work."
Sounds good. What's the problem?
"Last time I trusted someone with my family's business, he killed my father and stole everything."
Simone was quiet for a moment. Then she typed: Not everyone is Derek.
"How do I know?"
You don't. That's what trust is. A risk.
She showed him the message, then kept typing: But you're good at risk. You dive into pitch-black water three hundred feet down and bet your life you'll come back up. That's bigger than trusting a business partner.
Dante laughed despite himself. "You always make things sound so simple."
They are simple. You're just overthinking. She smiled—Simone had the kind of smile that lit up her whole face. Take the partnership. Build something big. MakeDerek regret ever messing with a Cross.
"You sound like my sister."
Jasmine's smart. Listen to her.
She stood up, squeezed his shoulder, and headed back toward her house.
Dante watched her go, then looked at his father's notebook again.
Build something big.
Yeah. He could do that.
Derek Stone found out about the lease three days later.
Dante was at the dock loading equipment onto the boat when Derek's Escalade screeched into the parking lot. Derek jumped out, face purple with rage, and stormed toward Dante like a hurricane.
"You leased the Graveyard?" Derek shouted. People on the dock turned to watch. "You went behind my back and leased my salvage zone?"
"Your salvage zone?" Dante kept loading equipment, didn't even look at Derek. "Last I checked, the Gulf of Mexico belongs to the U.S. government, not you."
"I've been trying to get rights to that area for three years!"
"Should've tried harder."
Derek got in Dante's face. Close enough that Dante could smell the expensive cologne he wore. "You think you're smart? You think you can just take what's mine?"
"Nothing down there is yours," Dante said calmly. "My lease is legal. My equipment is legal. My contracts are legal. You don't have a say in what I do anymore."
"You ungrateful piece of—" Derek caught himself, looked around at the people watching. Lowered his voice. "I gave you a job when you were nothing. I kept your family fed for ten years."
"You paid me scraps while you got rich off my work," Dante said. "That's not gratitude. That's exploitation."
"Fine. You want to play this game? Let me tell you something." Derek's smile was vicious now. "The Graveyard is dangerous. People die down there. And when you inevitably screw up, when you get hurt or killed or can't deliver on your contracts, I'll be right there to pick up the pieces. I'll take your lease, your equipment, everything. Just like I did with your father."
The dock went silent.
Dante turned to face Derek fully for the first time. "What did you say?"
Derek realized his mistake immediately. His face went pale. "I didn't mean—"
"Just like you did with my father," Dante repeated. "That's what you said. How'd you do that, Derek? How'd you take everything from him?"
"I didn't—it was legal, the partnership agreement—"
"The partnership agreement he terminated three weeks before he died?" Dante pulled out his phone, showed Derek a photo of the dissolution contract. "This agreement?"
Derek's eyes went wide. "Where did you get that?"
"My father left me a lot of things, Derek. Information. Evidence. Truth." Dante stepped closer. "I know what you did. I know you sabotaged his equipment. I know you forged insurance documents. I know you murdered him."
"You can't prove that," Derek said, but his voice shook.
"Not yet," Dante said quietly. "But I will. And when I do, you're going to lose everything. Just like you made my family lose everything."
Derek opened his mouth, closed it. For the first time in ten years, he had nothing to say.
"Get off my dock," Dante said. "Before I throw you off."
Derek backed away, stumbled into his Escalade, and peeled out of the parking lot.
The dock workers started clapping.
Tony walked up, grinning. "Man, I've been waiting ten years to see someone put Derek in his place."
"That's not the end of it," Dante said. "He's going to come back. He's going to try something."
"Let him try," Tony said. "You've got the law on your side now. And you've got people who believe in you."
Dante looked around the dock. At the workers who'd stopped to watch. At Pops, who'd shown up and was nodding in approval. At Jasmine, who'd driven down and was filming the whole thing on her phone.
"Yeah," Dante said. "Yeah, I guess I do."
To Be Continued....
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