It hadn't been everything. Eden hadn't been so thorough that she would sacrifice every ounce - just most of it. If she had to make a guess at how much the remaining crystal meth was worth, she would value it at about thirty large, maybe thirty five if she pushed it with the optimism.
But that was still a hell of a lot less than before. Over eighty five percent of the two million and some change had vaporized like so much dust in the explosion, and Eden couldn't help but mourn the drastic liquidation of capital. She'd gotten her hands on that only after a lot of blood, bullets, and stitches in her neck and shoulder.
And tragically, setting fire to the meth on the bridge had been the easy part. The real danger would be in trying to stifle DiAngelo's wrath when he woke up and found out wha
