When I was 18 years old, I was arrested for selling fake IDs on the dark web.

I was actually pretty careful in covering my tracks, but in the end, it didn't matter.

At that point, I'd been selling the IDs for three years without any issues.

But I got cocky until the wrong person who I really was.

Turned out, that person was an FBI informant.

I was threatened with seven years in prison, and I probably would have done the full seven

if a mysterious benefactor hadn't come along.

In the end, my benefactor, a billionaire named Luther Speck,

offered me the services of an excellent lawyer if I agreed to work for him when I got out.

He wouldn't tell me what the work was, saying that I had to agree unconditionally

before he would spend a dime on my defense.

What can I say? I was desperate.

For an 18-year-old kid, seven years in prison seems like a life sentence.

And since the feds had seized all my assets, I agreed to the bargain.

Thanks to the lawyer Speck hired for me, I only spent two years in prison.

But now that I'm in this situation, I wish I would have told Speck to shove it.

I wish I would have done the full seven years.

Because unless some sort of miracle happens, I'm going to die a very painful death very soon.

Mr. Speck wants you to acquire him a slave.

At first, I thought the guy was joking. I laughed in his face.

He was Speck's right-hand man, a burly, hammer-headed guy named Simon Rech.

We were sitting in a Rolls-Royce phantom, Rech in the driver's seat, and me in the passengers.

...