I needed a break.

The hustle and bustle of Lima had taken their toll on me. My neck was tight from yet another shift at that dead-end call centre job. Yeah, it paid the bills, but it was still a shitty job. Having cantankerous clients yapping in my ear all day was enough to drive me to down several bottles of Pisco.

Sometimes it feels like I pissed four years away for what feels like a useless degree.

But rather than succumbing to the fate that claimed my papá's life, I hopped onto the old Yamaha motorcycle he left me and took off towards the countryside as the sun sank into the Pacific. Route 22 led me away from the waves crashing against the sandy shores of the Peruvian coast and towards mountains that are simultaneously lush and dusty.

The winding highway eventually brought me a small diner called Yamashiro's, which was the only building in sight. I figured there must have been a town somewhere nearby and dismounted my bike to go deal with my rumbling stomach. A bell rang as I pushed the door open. I looked around, and one guy was sitting alone at a table at the far end of the restaurant. The place was otherwise emptier than a gambler's wallet.

Hopefully, I just missed the rush, and this lack of customers isn't a testament to the food.

The loner glanced up as I sat down at a table near the door. He looked like your typical Mestizo (much like myself), having tan skin, jet black hair and dark eyes. He wore a fancy three-piece suit, reminding me of the men from the finance district. This guy was also puffing on a cigar, but the odd thing was I couldn't smell the smoke.

That's when I realised I was looking at Ekeko, god of prosperity and Peru's most prominent entrepreneur.

As he motioned for me to come over, the stunning waitress wearing a nametag that said Shizuka came to take my order. I loved looking at her pretty face, but I quickly ordered some Mate to cut things short; I couldn't pass up the chance to speak with Ekeko in person.

I walked over, and he motioned for me to sit across from him.

"It's nice to—"

"Pedro, right?" he interrupted, leaving my outstretched hand hanging.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to cut to the chase, kid; I want you to get me that waitress's number. Pachamama cursed me for building an industrial complex over some sacred forest. Now every time I try to talk to a beautiful woman I sound like my balls haven't dropped and turn into a zit faced teenager."

"Sure," I shrugged. "But what's in it for me?"

He smirked, and five tall stacks of Soles appeared on the table. "That enough?"

I frowned. "No."

"Then what in the hell do you want, kid?"

"Stocks in all your companies."

Ekeko grinned. "Smart man."

"Do we have a deal?"

He held out his hand. "Deal."