Alias sat at his usual table on the terrace of the Acapulco Bar. He spotted Buba moving through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between tables, a nod here, a joke there, always in motion.
When Buba turned toward him, Alias raised his glass slightly, a silent invitation.
Buba hesitated—just for a second—but then smiled and strolled over. "Ah, mon frère! Another drink, another conversation?" He pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a practiced ease.
"If you're willing," Alias said. He gestured to the waiter. "Same as last time?"
"Eh, why not? But this time, maybe I drink slower. Last night, I nearly started selling myself a watch."
Alias chuckled. The drinks arrived, and for a moment, they sat in silence, watching the evening unfold around them. Then Alias spoke.
"I want to explain something to you," he said, his tone measured. "Last time, I asked too many questions without telling you why. That wasn’t fair."
Buba leaned back, his eyes watchful. "Go on."
Alias exhaled. "I’m working on something. Something that could change the way people like you—people who operate outside the system—can trade, save, and build something of their own."
Buba raised an eyebrow. "You mean people like me... or people like you?"
Alias allowed himself a small smile. "People like us, then."
Buba nodded, waiting.
"It’s called the Pegged system," Alias continued. "At its core, it’s a way to make money—real money, not just numbers in a bank—work for the people who actually use it. It’s stable, it’s fair, and most importantly, it can’t be controlled by the same institutions that decide who gets to play and who doesn’t."
Buba tilted his head. "You are talking big words, mon frère. But tell me... what does that mean for a man like me?"
Alias leaned in slightly. "It means that instead of running your business in the shadows, dependent on middlemen, banks, and the risks of carrying cash, you’d have a way to trade directly. Without interference. Without fear of losing everything overnight because a law changed, a border closed, or a government decided to crack down."
Buba listened, turning the words over in his mind.
"I won't pretend I'm understanding half of what you're saying," he admitted, "but I hear something interesting in it. Something... different."
Alias nodded. "You don’t need to understand everything now. But I think you understand why it matters."
Buba took a slow sip of his drink, then set the glass down. "And why are you telling me this?"
"Because you see things differently," Alias said simply. "You don’t just survive—you adapt. You understand how things really work, how people really move money. If this system is going to work, it needs to start from the ground up, not from some office in New York, Frankfurt , Washington or Brussels. It needs people who know how to move in the world as it is, not just as they wish it would be."
Buba studied him for a long moment, then grinned. "You want to build something big... but you need to start small."
"Exactly."
Buba drummed his fingers on the table. "Okay, mon frère. You have my curiosity. Maybe even a little of my interest. But interest is like a woman—you must keep it alive, or it will find another place to be."
Alias chuckled. "Then let’s meet again tomorrow. Same time, same place. I'll explain more."
Buba finished his drink and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Tomorrow, then. But you better bring a way to explain this in words a simple man can hold in his hands."
"I will," Alias promised.
Buba nodded once, then disappeared into the night, already greeting another table, already shifting back into the rhythm of the streets.
Alias watched him go, feeling something he hadn’t in a long time—the first step of something real.
