Kashme Kartel FBI #1

Kash Kartel’s Deal with Destiny

Kashme "Kash" Kartel leaned back in his leather office chair, the fluorescent lights of the public defender’s office flickering softly above him. His small, cluttered workspace felt like a cell, walls plastered with yellowed legal briefs and tattered posters of famous trial lawyers. But tonight, Kash wasn’t thinking about his usual caseload.

He stared at the sleek black folder on his desk, his name embossed in bold gold letters: Kashme Kartel, Esq. Inside was a document that could change his life forever: an invitation to meet President-elect Donold J. Grump.

Tomorrow morning, Kash would be sitting in the gilded halls of Maga Logo, discussing his potential appointment as the next head of the FBI. It was everything he’d ever wanted—power, prestige, and a chance to leave behind the swampy grind of Florida’s legal system. But it came at a price.

A Bronx Tale

Kash tapped his pen on the desk, his mind drifting back to his childhood. He could still remember the chill of that November night, the steam rising from the sewers as a baby wailed on the steps of the 49th Precinct in the Bronx.

That baby was him.

Abandoned by his parents, immigrants who had likely felt overwhelmed by their new life in America, Kashme had been taken in by the Kartel family, a loud and boisterous Italian clan from Little Italy. They gave him his name, his home, and, inadvertently, his voice—a thick Bronx-Italian accent that still made people squint when he talked.

“Eh, whaddaya mean ya don’t understand me?” he’d often say, waving his hands in frustration. “I’m talkin’ plain English ova here!”

Despite the teasing he endured, Kash was smart—scary smart. He put himself through college, earned a degree in Criminal Justice, and went on to law school, determined to make something of himself. His life story read like a rags-to-riches tale, but Kash knew the truth: his success wasn’t just grit. It was luck. And luck could run out.

Catty Gaytz and the Envelope

The envelope had appeared ten years ago, sitting neatly on the driver’s seat of his car. Kash remembered the moment vividly: the warm Florida air, the smell of salt and sweat, and his heart dropping into his stomach as he opened it.

Inside were $10,000 in crisp hundred-dollar bills and photographs—dozens of them. They showed him at a party, drink in hand, his arm around a young woman. She looked older that day, dressed in a tight one-piece bathing suit, her makeup added easily a couple of years. But in these photos, stripped of context, she looked alarmingly young.

The writing on the back of the photo listed her birthdate, and the date the photo was taken. She was 17 years and eleven months old, a minor in any state. Kash had no idea. He’d been invited to the party by a college friend, one who’d made a name for himself hosting wild, decadent orgies. Kash wasn’t a prude, and he’d had his fair share of fun, but he’d never knowingly crossed a line like that. It was just one photo and she had disappeared.  

It was a setup, the message was clear: protect Catty Gaytz, transgender daughter of State Senator Charlie Gaytz, from the DUI charge, or these photos—and his career—would be destroyed.

Kash had made the evidence disappear. The DUI charge was quietly dropped, and the Gaytz family was eternally grateful. True to their word, they made sure Kash’s career began to rise.

And now, here he was.

The invitation from Grump was no accident. Word had spread about Kash’s ability to “handle” delicate situations, and Grump’s people had taken notice.

The folder on his desk contained a rough outline of what Grump wanted from him as FBI Director: a list of “enemies” to investigate, prosecute, and bury. Kash had already started drafting his own list, adding names of people who had crossed him during his career.

There was the judge who’d humiliated him in court, the law school rival who’d stolen his internship offer, and a former lover who’d leaked private texts. And then there was the Gaytz family.

“Keep your friends close,” Kash muttered, staring at the list. “But your enemies closer.”

He didn’t trust the Gaytz's—not for a second. They had created dirt once, and then used it against him. Unless he played his cards right, they would do it again if necessary. Who knows how far they would go if pushed?

Kash leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. The weight of the folder felt like an anchor.

Meeting Grump meant stepping into a world of power and corruption unlike anything he’d ever known. It was a chance to rewrite his story, to rise above the public defender’s office and into the halls of history.

But it also meant selling what was left of his soul.

He glanced at the original envelope he had received on the shelf, openly hidden as a bookmark in a book on Federal Criminal Statutes --now empty but still a stark reminder of the leverage others held over him. If Grump offered him the job, Kash knew he’d have to make a choice: embrace the darkness or risk losing everything.

Tomorrow would decide his fate.