The chain wasn’t just jewelry. It was a status symbol, a street-certified crown. Designed by Lloyd Banks and rumored to cost $300,000, the spinning G-Unit medallion defined the peak of early 2000s hip-hop

bling culture. When 50 Cent wore it, nobody dared test him. But in the summer of 2004, one foolish decision turned the chain into a target—and lit a match to one of the wildest underworld stories in rap history.

During a tour stop in Chicago, Young Buck’s entourage made a fateful decision. Against 50 Cent’s explicit orders, Buck’s right-hand man—DT—snuck out of the hotel with the spinner chain to go party. His

thinking? The G-Unit chain was a golden ticket—free entry into any club, instant respect, guaranteed recognition.

But he brought it to Cabrini Green.

Cabrini Green wasn’t just a dangerous neighborhood. It was a war zone. A legendary housing project where even police treaded lightly, and death often came without warning. DT flaunted the chain at the Dragon

Room nightclub, soaking in the attention—until gunfire erupted.

Shooter. Chain-snatcher. Chaos. One second DT was flexing; the next, someone was shooting at his feet, screaming “Give me that!”

He resisted—barely. But when the barrel of the gun came up to eye level, the decision was made. The G-Unit spinner chain was gone.

Back at the hotel, DT had to face the music. Young Buck was furious.

“You weren’t supposed to even HAVE that chain!”

And then… the call to 50 Cent.

You’d expect rage. Threats. Violence. But 50’s response? Cold. Calm. Calculated.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Because that’s all that matters.”

But behind the scenes, war was already brewing.

What followed was a multi-layered, coast-to-coast operation to retrieve the chain. Young Buck tried to get it back the old-fashioned way—radio pleas, backroom negotiations, even a face-to-face with infamous

Chicago street figures. A promoter named Uncle Godfather, alleged mediator JoJo Capone, and whispers of extortion: $20K became $100K overnight. Chicago wolves had tasted blood—and were demanding

payment.

But Buck refused. And 50 Cent?

He played a very different card.

Unbeknownst to the public, 50 Cent had already crossed paths with two men whose names would later haunt the federal justice system: Pedro and Margarito Flores, aka The Flores Twins—El Chapo’s most

powerful U.S. distributors.

At the height of their empire, they were moving 130+ tons of cocaine, and laundering over $2 billion through American cities—Chicago being the epicenter.

And it was they who got the chain back.

According to 50 Cent, the G-Unit spinner was brought directly to the twins after it was snatched. The thieves figured that the twins could afford to pay a king’s ransom. But the Flores brothers had a different

motivation.

They wanted access to 50. And returning the chain was their way in.

They didn’t just pay for it—they leveraged it.

Then, in a jaw-dropping move, they shut down all cartel activity in Chicago until the chain was returned. No coke. No heroin. No movement.

“Nobody gets work until the G-Unit chain is back in 50’s hands.”

Let that sink in.

The streets of Chicago were frozen for a rap chain.

And within days, the chain was quietly delivered—via Gabby, a music industry plug at RCA who was connected to the Flores family. But here’s the kicker: the chain wasn’t even the real one.

The original $300K chain had been retired and replaced with a “dummy” made of Cubic Zirconia because the insurance costs were too high. So when the robbers thought they hit the jackpot, they actually walked

away with fake ice—and unknowingly triggered a cartel-level shutdown for a knockoff.

And this is where things get darker.

The Flores Twins would later flip on El Chapo, secretly working with the DEA for years. Their testimony would help convict the most dangerous drug lord in modern history, while they secured a sweet plea deal—

just 14 years for trafficking 70+ tons of narcotics and laundering billions. They now live under witness protection. But before they disappeared, they made one last major move…

50 Cent helped launch their podcast.

You read that right. In a full-circle moment, 50 rewarded their “loyalty” by producing a podcast where they would spill secrets about the cartel, criminal life, and the chain saga that nearly turned a G-Unit tour into

a federal case.

And if you’re still questioning 50’s power?

Remember this:

While Buck was begging club promoters and middlemen for help, 50 Cent made one call to the cartel.

And the entire city shut down.

To this day, the shooter who pulled the trigger on DT’s feet has never been caught. The men who bragged in grainy VHS tapes about taking the chain? Silenced. Gone. And 50? He turned the robbery into a

cautionary tale—and a legacy move that reinforced one brutal message:

“This is EXACTLY why nobody dares to f*ck with me.”

It wasn’t just the money.

It wasn’t just the fame.

It was the reach. The respect. The ruthlessness.

50 Cent didn’t just win.

He rewrote the rules.