The barbershop was buzzing with conversation, the steady hum of clippers filling the air. Jamal leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone, eyes widening as he stumbled upon some breaking news.

“Yo, you hear about this Big Meech and Lil Meech situation?” he asked, his voice cutting through the chatter.

Dre glanced up from the mirror, brushing his fresh fade. “Nah, what’s up?”

Jamal shook his head, still staring at his screen. “Man, they just sold the BMF rights for $112 million. You believe that?”

Dre let out a low whistle, spinning his chair to face Jamal. “112 mil? For real? Who’d they sell it to?”

“That’s the thing,” Jamal said, leaning in like he was dropping classified info. “Nobody knows yet. Some big production company, I guess. But check this—50 Cent is losing his damn mind over it.”

Dre laughed, shaking his head. “50? Why is he mad? Ain’t he the one who made the show?”

“Exactly!” Jamal slapped the armrest, grinning. “That’s what’s got everybody talking. BMF’s his baby. He built that Starz series and turned their story into gold. But now, Big Meech and Lil Meech went and cashed out behind his back. He’s heated.”

The barbershop erupted in murmurs. Even old man Reggie, who sat by the window pretending to read a newspaper, chimed in. “Sounds like betrayal to me. 50 put Lil Meech on, didn’t he?”

“For real,” Jamal nodded. “Took him under his wing, got him acting lessons, made him the star. And Big Meech—50 was cool with him too, even after he got out last year. They were tight.”

“Or so he thought,” Dre smirked, crossing his arms. “So what’s 50 saying? You know he ain’t the quiet type.”

“Oh, he’s wilding out.” Jamal pulled up Instagram. “Look at this—he posted a pic of a rat with ‘I Think I’m Big Meech’ written on it. Straight shots fired. Then he’s hinting at some tell-all doc with Tammy Cowins, the chick who flipped on BMF back in the day. He’s like, ‘Y’all gonna see the truth soon.’”

Dre frowned. “Tammy? The snitch? What’s she got to do with this?”

Jamal shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe 50 is trying to say Big Meech was in on some shady stuff. Or maybe he’s just pissed and stirring the pot. Either way, he’s coming for their necks.”

Reggie shook his head, folding his newspaper. “$112 million is a lot of money, though. Can’t blame ‘em for taking it. Big Meech been locked up half his life, and Lil Meech is just trying to eat off the legacy. 50’s got his own empire—he’ll be alright.”

“Nah, it ain’t about the money for 50,” Dre countered, leaning forward. “It’s the principle. He built that show from the ground up, put his name on it, put in the hustle. Now they out here selling the rights like he’s some side character. I’d be mad too.”

Jamal nodded, scrolling again. “Facts. And get this—Lil Meech is caught in the middle. 50 posted some texts where Lil Meech is like, ‘Why you mad at me? I’d give you the shirt off my back.’ Sounded desperate, like he’s trying to keep the peace.”

“Poor kid,” Reggie muttered. “He’s just playing his pops on TV. Now he’s got to deal with 50’s wrath. That’s messy.”

“Messy as hell,” Jamal agreed. “And 50 is not letting up. He even posted, ‘What next season?’ Like he might shut the whole show down. Can you imagine? BMF’s a hit, and he’s ready to torch it over this.”

Dre rubbed his chin. “You think he’d really cancel it? That’s his cash cow.”

“Man, 50’s petty enough.” Jamal laughed. “Remember how he trolled Rick Ross for years? Speaking of Ross—he’s in this too. Big Meech linked up with him after getting out, and 50’s been salty ever since. Probably what kicked this whole thing off.”

Dre raised an eyebrow. “Ross and Meech? That’s a power move. Ross been name-dropping BMF since ‘Blowing Money Fast.’ Makes sense they’d vibe.”

“Yeah, but 50 don’t see it that way,” Jamal said. “He’s like, ‘You rolling with my enemy? You a rat.’ Then boom—Meech and Lil Meech cash out for $112 million, and 50’s left looking like the odd man out.”

Reggie chuckled dryly. “Sounds like a damn soap opera. What’s Big Meech saying about all this?”

“Not much.” Jamal shrugged. “Last time he spoke up was when 50 called him a snitch. He was like, ‘I ain’t never told, never will. Death before dishonor.’ But he’s been quiet since this deal went through. Probably counting his money somewhere.”

Dre grinned. “Death before dishonor, huh? Meanwhile, he’s cashing checks. I respect the hustle.”

“For real,” Jamal said. “But 50’s not done. He’s out here saying he sent Lil Meech to rehab once, claiming he was high on set. Even threw Russell Hornsby under the bus—said he caught Lil Meech messed up during a weapons test. 50’s airing all the dirty laundry.”

Dre’s eyes widened. “Rehab? That’s cold. True or not, that’s a low blow.”