CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
NAJEE
Najee took one look at Koi’s face and already knew it wasn’t good.
Koi Chan was a wild-ass half-Black, half-Cambodian nigga from South Philly.
He owned one of the most successful general contracting companies in the city and was certified in damn near everything.
HVAC, electrical, plumbing, air distribution, you name it.
When he wasn’t overseeing stadiums, airports, and commercial developments, he was serving as underboss for one of the biggest Cambodian crime families in the city.
Najee had known him since they were kids running the bike-life scene.
Back then, nobody really knew Koi’s background.
They just knew his momma was Black, he wasn’t, and he’d fight anybody reckless enough to call him a chink.
When his father got sick a few years ago, Koi stepped fully into the family business and never looked back.
Najee hadn’t spoken to him since Paris’s funeral almost two years ago. The fact that Koi had dropped everything and came out on short notice after the first contractor flaked said a lot.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Najee asked, already bracing himself as he eased back onto Jackie’s worn sofa. Koi didn’t sugarcoat it. “Nigga... throw the whole house away.”
Najee exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “Bro, be serious.”
“Nigga, I am serious,” Koi said, half-laughing, half-grim.
“You should see this shit. Structurally, I don’t know how the house still standing.
That hot water heater gotta be the first one ever made.
There’s a pipe that burst inside the wall, so now she got mold.
The foundation is compromised in three different spots.
The basement floors sloping like a funhouse.
And don’t get me started on the roof—I saw that as soon as I pulled up.
One bad Nor’easter and she gone be snowed in for real. ”
Najee stayed quiet, letting the weight of Koi’s words settle.
He knew the house was old. Knew it needed work.
But he hadn’t realized it was this bad. “Now don’t get me wrong,” Koi continued.
“She got it dressed up nice in here. Shawty def got an eye for design. I might have to hire her to stage some of my flips. This jawn giving bando-chic. Koi gestured around the room. “She clearly know how to make a broken thing look beautiful.” His smile faded. “But this house? It’s fucked.”
Najee’s eyes drifted around the room. The throw blanket folded neatly across the couch. The framed school pictures hanging crooked in the hallway. The stack of books beside the recliner. Max’s football cleats sitting by the front door. Jackie’s house wasn’t perfect.
Hell, it wasn’t even close. But it was hers. He understood that now. Every wall carried evidence of somebody who had spent years turning survival into stability. Somehow Jackie had managed to build a life here. Not a perfect life. And damn sure not an easy one. But a life, nonetheless.
The thought made Koi’s next words hit even harder. “How much?”
“Seventy-five grand minimum,” Koi said. “And that’s ’cause you my nigga. That don’t even include labor or materials. Real talk? This place needs a full gut.” Najee didn’t respond right away.
His mind was already turning. Koi leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
“So what now? Why not move her into one of your other spots? I heard you building something crazy out in Bryn Mawr. Hector said he put an in-ground pool in for you.”
“It’s not finished yet,” Najee muttered.
“What about the brownstone in Rittenhouse? I thought you had two apartments in there besides your office.” Najee frowned. Because the truth was, he hadn’t even considered it.
The top apartment had two bedrooms, a decent-sized living room, and it overlooked the park. It was safe, clean, and walkable. Max could walk to the playground, play in the park.
Najee remembered Jackie telling him how much he loved nature.
That way, Jackie could stay comfortable while the house got fixed.
And he could keep them close. On paper, it made perfect sense.
But Najee knew her and knew how much she loved her house.
It was probably the first thing she’d ever truly owned.
“She not gonna take that,” Najee said quietly. “And, why the fuck not?” Koi scoffed.
“She loves this house bro.”
“So what?” Najee’s gaze drifted back toward the hallway.
“Means something to her, Koi.”
“I get that,” Koi said expression unreadable. “That don’t change the fact she living in a liability.”
Silence settled between them. Then Koi’s expression shifted. “Mind if I ask you something?”
Najee leaned back. “You already asking.” Koi chuckled. “You sure you tryna lock in with her like this? I know you don’t really do the street shit.” Najee didn’t answer.
Koi took that as permission to continue.
“I know Marcus been a ghost lately, but he still got ties to the city. And she the biggest one. Word on the street he still comes back and forth. I used to shoot dice with that nigga. She was all he talked about.” Najee’s jaw tightened.
He hated hearing Marcus’s name. Not because he intimidated him.
But because every story he heard about Marcus ended the same way.
With Jackie carrying the consequences. “He can be obsessed all he want,” Najee said flatly.
“As long as he don’t come nowhere near her or her son.” Koi nodded. “I hear that.”
“Besides,” Najee continued, “if he steps back into this city, he’s a dead man.”
“I know,” Koi said. “Monty got half a ticket on his head.” There was a pause.
Then Koi rubbed his beard. “Still... he not as gone as niggas think he is. I seen a couple of his folks outside recently. Ain’t many of them left, but one is too many if you ask me.
” Najee cut him off before he could keep going.
“You finished?” Koi laughed. “For now.” He pushed off the wall and headed toward the door.
“But I’ma be real with you. You need to convince her to seriously consider your offer. Whether it’s with you or somewhere else, bottom line is she can’t keep living here. And that’s real. It’s not safe.”
Najee let out a slow breath after the door closed behind him.
The problem wasn’t Koi. The problem wasn’t the money.
The problem was Jackie. Not because she was difficult.
But because she loved this house. And convincing Jackie Brown to walk away from something she’d fought for was going to be a hell of a lot harder than fixing it.