A stack of bills stuffed all the words Fiona wanted to say back into her throat.
Her motion of peeling potatoes stopped, her gaze fixed on the money—not a few bills, not a wad, but a stack.
But Fiona's first reaction wasn't surprise, but...
"Shit!"
She looked up, glaring at Shane, her voice raising: "Shane Gallagher, where did you 'pick up' this money again?!"
She used the word "again."
Clearly, this stack of cash brought up the old accounts from last time.
Fiona narrowed her eyes, starting to scan Shane's face up and down, trying to find a guilty expression on his face.
Hanging around in the South Side for so many years, especially with a father like Frank, she had formed a stereotype: the faster the money comes, the greater the risk.
But there was no expression on Shane's face; he just handed the money forward again.
"I said, this is what I earned selling breakfast this morning."
"Every dollar was taken out of the wallets of those hungry ordinary people."
"Selling breakfast?" Fiona sneered. "With just those burgers and coffees of yours?"
She leaned back against the cabinet. "Shane, I know you really want to prove yourself lately."
"But there's a limit to bullshitting. You set up a stall alone and sold this much in one morning?"
Fiona reached out and gestured the thickness. "This must be... three hundred? Four hundred? Do you think the Central Park subway station is a gold mine?"
"Four hundred forty-seven dollars and fifty cents."
Shane quoted the exact number: "And this is income under the condition that I wasn't fully prepared this morning and had several portions stolen."
"Four hundred forty-seven..."
Fiona repeated the amount.
"But who knows if you mixed the money you hid before in there to make up the numbers."
She gritted her teeth. "Maybe one of these bills is that ghost money you 'picked up' last time."
"Then it's even simpler."
Shane shrugged. "Why don't you come out with me tomorrow morning and see for yourself? Watch with your own eyes how I collect money, how I give change, and how the cash box goes from empty to full."
As he spoke, he shook the stack of money in his hand:
"Look, Fiona, look at these bills. Whole and change, crumpled and new."
Fiona's gaze fell back on the stack of money.
These fragmented traces of circulation indeed looked like they were piled up from transaction after transaction of small amounts.
"...Fck."
She cursed in a low voice and snatched the bills.
Fiona said no more, walked directly to the dining table, sat heavily on a chair, and started counting money.
Her fingertips rubbed the bills, making crisp snap-snap sounds. She counted very carefully, separating bills stuck together and smoothing out curled corners from time to time, but her mouth didn't stop.
"Did you open your stall on Wall Street? Or did you mix some 'stuff' into the burgers? ...Three eighty, three ninety, four hundred..."
Counting to this point, her movement paused.
"Damn it, really over four hundred..."
"You didn't steal Kevin's private money hidden under the bar floor, did you? If he knows you touched his money, he'll chase you with a broom from Chicago all the way to Lake Michigan."
"Kevin definitely can't outrun me," Shane replied, pulling out a stool to sit down too, quietly watching Fiona count money.
"...Four thirty, four forty..."
With the last bill counted, Fiona tidied up the money. "Fck, it really is fcking four hundred forty-seven dollars and fifty cents."
"Cost." Fiona looked back at Shane. She still couldn't quite believe that what Shane sold could bring in so much income.
"Tell me honestly, how much do you sell a combo for, and how much is the cost? Don't bullshit me."
Shane had long expected this question.
He adjusted the numbers in his head upwards, quoting a price higher than the real cost, but told Fiona the selling price truthfully.
This number was significantly higher than the actual cost of those semi-finished products on Temu, but still considered low in the vendor circle of the South Side.
"Impossible."
Fiona retorted directly, but the doubt in her tone was not as much as before.
"Food at this price is either garbage about to expire or..."
Thinking of some more disgusting possibility, the expression on her face changed.
"The meat is fine." Shane interrupted her excessive fantasies. "All legitimate frozen goods, large quantity and cheap. Wholesale prices, not the kind you see in convenience store freezers."
"If you don't believe it, you can check the raw materials yourself tomorrow."
"Or I can tell you how much I spent on stocking up this time, and you calculate yourself whether I'm bragging or this business really has some tricks."
Saying that, he quoted a total stocking cost.
Deducting this part, and roughly pushing back based on his "exaggerated" unit cost just now, the net profit today was about two hundred seventy or eighty dollars.
The kitchen was quiet for a few seconds. Fiona lowered her head, her brain rapidly rearranging these numbers.
Anyway, this money was really right in front of her.
Although the cost was low enough to be somewhat unsettling, it wasn't completely unimaginable.
Especially when Fiona thought of some "channels" that indeed existed.
If all this was true, this profit margin was still a bit scary.
"Wait, you said before..."
She suddenly grasped a key point. "You said there's a share for Kevin, right?"
"Yeah." Shane nodded. "He provides the car; I provide labor and goods. As agreed before, split ten percent of the profit with him."
"Profit?"
"Not revenue?"
"What are you thinking?" Shane rolled his eyes. "If I gave him ten points on revenue, I'd be working for Kevin this morning, not for myself."
Fiona choked on his words. "Okay, calculating based on the cost you just gave, your net profit today is around two hundred seventy."
"Deducting the ten percent for Kevin, about less than thirty bucks..."
"You can still keep over two hundred forty in your own pocket."
As she spoke, she looked up, disbelief in her eyes.
"Which means—in one morning, standing on the street for over two hours, you earned over two hundred dollars."
Fiona suddenly didn't want to talk. She leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose.
After a few seconds of silence, "Do you know how much I... can earn at most in a day right now?"
Her voice carried a bit of self-mockery: "The best time, at that ghost place 'Go Go', hourly wage eight fifty."
"I stood from evening until two in the morning, knees hurting like hell."
"With extremely good luck and more tips, I brought home one hundred twenty dollars that day. But that was already worth opening a craft beer to celebrate."
"But now, you say you just stood for a morning, and earned double my fcking best day at the bar, smiling apologetically, getting my thigh touched, and having to stay up from evening until late at night?!"
She put down her hand and looked at Shane.