Chapter 30: The First Meeting
New York.
The terminal buzzed with noise as Tommy stepped out of the arrival gate, suitcase rolling smoothly behind him. His sunglasses masked his eyes, but he was scanning, searching.
Not far away, Kimberly Wexler tightened her grip on the cardboard sign in her hands.
She had been standing here for nearly an hour, thoughts circling the same problem: money.
NYU was prestigious — one of the best law schools in the country. But prestige came with a price tag. Tens of thousands a year. By the time she graduated, tuition alone would cost more than her family had ever seen.
And right now? She didn't even have enough to cover last month's rent.
Her chest tightened. If only her father were still alive. He had died young, leaving her with a mother who drowned herself in bottles. Every drunken rant had been the same — curses, violence, and half-coherent stories about "glorious deeds" from long ago.
Bank robberies. Gang wars. Police knocking at the door.
Kimberly had stopped believing those tales years ago, dismissing them as an alcoholic's fantasies. But one thing had always been clear: her family wasn't clean. Not really.
And now here she was, waiting to greet her uncle's "friend."
She sighed, raising the sign a little higher. I should've asked for a photo. Or at least a phone number.
Then, a voice. Low, smooth, confident.
"Kimberly Wexler?"
She turned, and her eyes widened.
The man before her was nothing like she had imagined. His slicked-back hair framed a sharp, chiseled face. Thick brows shadowed deep, unreadable eyes. A tailored blue-violet suit clung perfectly to his frame, polished shoes gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
He looked like he had stepped straight out of a gangster movie — The Godfather reborn, only younger. Sharper. More dangerous.
"That's right," Kimberly said, regaining her composure. She tucked the sign under her arm and offered a polite handshake. "I'm Kimberly. You can just call me that."
Tommy's grip was firm, steady, unhurried.
"Let's find somewhere to settle down first," he said.
"There's a hotel nearby," Kimberly offered quickly. "Great facilities, very secure. I think it'll meet your standards."
Tommy paused. Hotels meant prying eyes, staff records, cameras. Too exposed. Not his style. He tilted his head.
"Kimberly, do you live alone?"
The question hit harder than she expected. She blinked, mind racing.
She did live alone. A one-bedroom, barely furnished, with an empty couch in the living room. But letting a stranger — especially one who looked like this — into her home? Impossible.
Her hesitation showed. But then Tommy spoke again, calm, almost casual.
"Two hundred a day. If you can provide three meals, I'll add another hundred."
Kimberly froze.
Three hundred dollars a day. Three thousand for ten days. Nearly ten thousand for a month. If he stayed longer… it was more than she'd ever dared to hope for. Enough to cover tuition, rent, maybe even build savings.
It was insane. Too good to refuse.
Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. Finally, she nodded. "Alright. But during the week I'll be at classes around lunchtime. I won't always have time to cook."
"That's not a problem," Tommy said smoothly.
The deal was struck. Kimberly exhaled, her mind already calculating tuition payments.
What she didn't realize was that Tommy's offer had little to do with comfort. Living under the same roof gave him privacy, yes. But more importantly, it gave him cover. An alibi.
And as far as Kimberly's pride went, this arrangement looked like business — not charity.
Tommy Vercetti always played the long game.
END of the chapter
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