Chapter 35 Mekhi
The morning light cut through the glass walls of the conference room, all clean and sharp, the kind of contrast that highlighted just how gritty my “other” life in the streets could get.
I’d been sitting across from Carlos Morales for twenty minutes, nodding at whatever contracts he was running through, but my mind wasn’t here. Focusing on his words was beyond me.
Every time I blinked, I heard Farrah telling me how Trell said to ask Gillian. And even louder, I heard Gillian lying to me two days ago; even the sweet night with Farrah couldn’t erase that. That fact kept circling in my head, clouding my vision…
Breaking my heart.
“—and you’ll need to sign this one by Friday,” Carlos said, sliding a document across the table. His voice was calm, patient, the same tone he used back when I was deep in the game and trying to learn how to act like a man who belonged in boardrooms.
“Mm-hmm,” I muttered, not even looking.
He watched me for a beat, then set down his pen. “You haven’t heard a word I said in the last fifteen minutes.”
I rubbed my jaw, exhaled slowly. “Got some shit going on, Carlos.”
“I gathered.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me over his glasses. “This about your mother?”
My gaze tangled with his. “What makes you say that?”
A sympathetic smile creased his face. “I’ve known Gillian since before you could tie your shoes, mijo. You’re her firstborn. You’ve always been in tune with her. When something’s off with her, it usually finds its way to you. I’ve never seen anything else shake you.”
I looked away, jaw tight. “Somebody’s been threatening me. Threatening her and Khayla. And Farrah. Some cat named Trell. He said I should ask my mama why he’s coming after us. My mama says she doesn’t know.”
He gave me a long, assessing look before speaking again. “And you don’t believe that?”
I shook my head, hating to speak the word.
Carlos didn’t move for a moment. Then, his fingers drummed the table. “Trell,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That name means something to you?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But I got a feeling I don’t wanna find out.”
He nodded once, the way he did when he was fitting puzzle pieces together in his head. “And your mother? What did she say exactly?”
“She lied,” I said flatly. “She said she don’t know nothing. But I saw it all in her face. She’s hiding something, Carlos. From me. Me!”
He sighed and took off his glasses, cleaning them with a handkerchief. “You ever stop to think maybe your grandfather wasn’t the villain you made him out to be?”
I frowned. “The fuck that come from? You really wanna go there right now?”
“I think you need to,” he said, eyes sharp now. “You think that man cut off his own daughter for fun? You think he sat in his mansion just watching her struggle, enjoying it?”
“That’s exactly what he did,” I snapped. “He left her with nothing, left us with nothing, while he died sitting on more money than God.”
“That man loved you, all of you. Yeah, he died wealthy. But he died heartbroken.” Carlos’s tone softened, but it didn’t lose weight. “There are things about that time you don’t know. Things your mother never told you.”
“Then tell me.”
He looked toward the window, the skyline glinting behind him. “Not my story to tell,” he said quietly. “But I will say this—Gillian… she’s not innocent in all of this.”
Something twisted in my gut. “What you mean by that?”
“I mean, if you want answers, and she won’t give them to you, there’s someone else you should ask.”
I exhaled sharply. “Who?”
“Your father’s brother,” he said, his voice lowering. “Medgar.”
I frowned. “Unc? He been locked up damn near twenty years. What he know about this?”
Carlos hesitated. “Maybe more than you think. Sometimes the truth don’t come from the people you expect.”
I leaned back, staring at him. He wasn’t the type to speak in riddles. Whatever he knew, he was keeping it close.
“All right,” I said finally. “I’ll pay him a visit.”
He nodded. “Do that. And, Mekhi…” He fixed me with that steady old-lawyer stare that always made me feel nineteen again. “Be careful. Don’t let your mama’s ghosts become your demons.”
I was about to ask what the hell that meant when the distant sound of a siren cut through the air. Then another. Then more.
Carlos glanced toward the window. “What the—”
The door burst open. My assistant Kimora stood there, face pale, breath coming fast. “Mekhi, we gotta go! Fire department’s evacuating the building—there’s a bomb threat!”
I stood immediately, staring at her because I had to have heard that shit wrong. “A what?”
“The whole block’s swarming with cops and first responders. They said everyone needs to clear out now.”
We moved quickly, joining the flood of people with whom we shared the building heading for the stairwell.
Sirens wailed closer, echoing through the streets as we spilled out into the heated air.
Red and blue lights flashed across glass and concrete.
I scanned the crowd, eyes narrowed. I already knew who was behind this.
Trell.
Then I saw him. Detective Lawrence Turner.
I’d forgotten he worked over here, too; his movements weren’t important enough for me to track.
But Emancipation’s small police force could only support and sustain a few full-time detectives.
They had agreements with other cities to share manpower.
That’s how Turner came to be over here, leaning against a squad car, smiling that same smug grin he’d been aiming at me since I was a kid.
It stretched across his face like he’d been waiting all week for this moment.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Venzant,” he said as I approached. “Always in the middle of something lately, huh?”
“You want something or you just like being in my presence?” I asked.
He chuckled. “When they clear this building, I’ma do a little investigating. Seems like somebody thinks you might have a little extra stashed in that fancy office of yours.”
I stepped close enough for him to smell the money he’d never make in his life. “That right? You searching for bombs or hoping to finally find the significance of your career?”
His jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth, Venzant. This ain’t the block right here.”
“And yet, I still run it,” I shot back. “Ain’t my fault you still salty ’cause I made it out the mud while you praying for a promotion.”
A few cops snickered nearby. Turner’s face turned red.
“Keep running that mouth, Venzant,” he hissed. “You think you’re untouchable, but one of these days, you’ll slip. And I’ll be there to watch you fall.”
I leaned in close enough that only he could hear me. “You better pray I don’t fall toward you, old man. You might not like what happens when I get up.”
His nostrils flared. “Watch your back.”
“Always,” I said. “Question is—can you say the same?”
He backed off, muttering curses, while the bomb squad moved in.
I turned away, pissed off. I couldn’t stand a bitch ass nigga, and Trell definitely was that, operating from the shadows, too scared to face me in the light.
Who was helping this nigga? How was he able to move like he did?
Tex was looking. Ajani Miller was looking.
And it all seemed like it was for nothing.
Carlos walked up to me and touched my shoulder. “You okay, mijo?” he asked.
I exhaled, a rough, frustrated breath. “Yeah. I—”
I stopped suddenly, my gaze caught by a tall, thin figure walking calmly—too calmly—outside the perimeter set by the fire department.
Dressed in black, he had a cap pulled low over his face.
I couldn’t really see him, but he was gone in an instant, sliding into a black Suburban and pulling out of the lot.
The license plate was conveniently dirty, dried mud covering everything but the number six.
Even as I moved toward where he pulled off from, phone to my ear as I called for backup, I knew I was too late.