18. If This World Were Mine
if this world were mine
THIS CHAPTER HAS A SOUNDTRACK
If This World Were Mine by Luther Vandross and Cheryl Lynn
julian
The Isaiah and Niecy Wade Foundation Charity Auction and Gala is always a working night for me.
A decade in, and the rhythm of it lived in my body.
Same checklist, same handshakes, same donor conversations I’d been having with people for so long that I knew which ones to hold longer and which ones to wave through.
This was a night where the Wade name and reputation walked in front of me, and I followed letting it do the work.
I’d been to a hundred nights like this on autopilot. Shake hands, accept checks, take pictures, leave by midnight. I was making small talk with the mayor when Alyssa walked in, and the conversation in front of me went to white noise.
She was standing in the ballroom in a black gown that fell to the floor in one clean line, one shoulder out, with a high slit opening and closing at her left leg with every step.
The dress poured down her body like it had been cut for her only.
But it was her hair that surprised me even more.
She'd traded her shorter cut for longer soft waves, loose and swept to one side, falling past her bare shoulder.
To say she commanded the room was not the word for it. She'd stopped it.
I wasn’t the only man who noticed. Conversations slowed as heads turned. I spotted three different men nudging each other, nodding in her direction, eyes tracking her across the room. The territorial surge that hit me was immediate.
“Excuse me,” I said to the mayor, leaving him mid-sentence.
Darryl Granger said my name from the bar as I passed; I lifted a hand without breaking stride.
I could see Alyssa looking around as she walked through the room, presumably for a familiar face.
She saw me when I was about ten feet away, and her expression relaxed a bit as she gave me a smile, slightly tipping her head.
She held her clutch in one hand and let the other one fall to her side, as she waited for me to reach her.
I stopped close. “Alyssa.”
“Hi, Julian.”
“You look stunning.”
She rubbed her lips together, trying not to smile. “Thank you, Julian.”
“I mean it. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Thank you. You look good in that tux. Very handsome.”
I nodded, still stuck and not taking my eyes off hers. For a moment I actually forgot where we were.
“Um… so are there assigned tables, or...?” she asked.
I snapped out of my trance. “Yes. Yes. You’re sitting with us. Come.”
I held out my arm and she hooked her hand around my elbow. We started toward the family table in time to witness coordinated chaos.
Originally, there had been an empty chair directly across from my seat, but suddenly Zion was sliding over a seat, Taryn was shifting to accommodate, and Tre was moving his place setting with theatrical precision.
Even Raschad and Simone repositioned themselves.
The domino effect left an empty chair directly beside mine, and the original seat across from me was now occupied by Aunt Lorraine.
I stopped one step short of the table. “Subtle,” I said to Taryn, who was crossing in front of us with her wine.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, eyes dancing.
Alyssa let go of my arm. “Hi, everybody.”
“Hey, sis.”
“There she is.”
“Alyssa, baby.” Aunt Lorraine waved her over. “Get over here. Let me see this dress up close.”
She walked over and hugged Aunt Lorraine around the neck. “You look shaaaarp as a needle, sweetheart,” Aunt Lorraine sang. “Julian. Pull her chair out.”
“I was going to.”
“Then pull it.”
I pulled it and Alyssa settled in. “They think they’re comedians,” I said quietly, just to her.
She laughed. I sat down next to her for a few minutes, not wanting to get up. But I made myself stand. “I have to get back to working the room. Welcome remarks in a few also. You good?”
“Go, son,” Aunt Lorraine said. “We have her.”
“I’ll find you later,” Alyssa said. “If you want.”
“I’ll find you.”
The next hour was what I had come to handle.
Darryl Granger found his way to me with his fifty-thousand-dollar commitment, hand on my shoulder, talking about his daughter at Spelman.
Gideon Pryce confirming he would match donations through Pryce Industries.
The Quartermans. The Lowells. A state senator I had voted for and a congressman I hadn’t, all with money to give.
I worked them the way I always did, present, patient, and never the one to bring up the ask, always the one to close it.
Then the band’s energy shifted toward the formal program, and it was time for speeches. I waved Tre, Simone, and Zion up to stand with me, then took the microphone, and the room quieted.
“Good evening, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Julian Wade, CEO of WadeHouse Records.” I gestured to my siblings. “And this is Zion Wade, Vice President of A&R and Artist Development, Tre Wade, VP of Production, and Simone Wade-Carter, Vice President of Operations and Brand Strategy.”
Applause rippled through the room.
“Every year we gather here to honor the legacy of our parents, Isaiah and Niecy Wade. To celebrate not just what they built in music, but what they believed about community. About home. About family.”
My voice was steady as I contained the emotion trying to surface underneath.
“Most of you know the story of this town. How our ancestors founded Lennox Falls with nothing but faith and forty acres. How they expanded and built something here. Farms, mills, businesses and more, when the rest of the world said Black folks couldn’t.
How this community thrived for generations, separate but sovereign. How we took care of our own.”
I paused.
“And many of you remember what happened after. When the tobacco money dried up. When the mills closed. When our children started leaving for cities that promised more than we could offer them. Lennox Falls almost became a memory. Another predominently Black town that used to be.”
The room was silent now.
“But some families stayed. Stubborn folks who refused to let go of the land their grandparents bled for. Our parents, Isaiah and Niecy Wade, were both born right here in Lennox Falls. Before the lights. Before the headlines. Before WadeHouse became…” I smiled slightly. “Whatever y’all call us now.”
Laughter rippled through the room.
“This town raised them. Nurtured them. Protected them. Loved them. They fell in love with each other in these streets. Got married at Mount Zion A.M.E., the same church their mothers met and became friends in. The church they grew up in. And when our father started making music, when the labels came calling from New York and LA, and everybody told him he had to leave to truly make it…” I shook my head.
“He told them he already had everything he needed right here. The love of his life. His music. And a community that believed in him long before the charts ever did.”
The room applauded. I let it ride for a moment, then quieted them down.
“Together, our parents built WadeHouse in the basement of our great-uncle’s record shop, then grew it out into an old barn on retired farmland.
Pieced together with borrowed equipment, community support, and more passion than money.
” I smiled. “And before long, WadeHouse wasn’t just a studio.
It was a heartbeat. Kids came to learn instruments.
Artists came seeking sanctuary. Neighbors came because Mama cooked too much food and nobody left hungry. ”
A few people laughed softly, nodding. They remembered.
“Our parents used to say that Lennox Falls took care of them, so they had to take care of Lennox Falls. That was the deal. The covenant they made.” I swallowed. “And they kept it. Every dollar of profit that came in went right back into this community. Because that’s what you do for family.”
I paused again, and the room went still.
“When our mother passed away… everything stopped. And when grief overtook our father, many counted us out. Assumed WadeHouse was done. Predicted this town would go back to what it was before. Didn’t believe the Wade kids could carry on what our parents began.”
I looked at Tre, Simone, and Zion, standing beside me and smiled at them.
“But we’re doing it. We picked up the torch and we’ve kept it burning. Because this is home. Because our parents’ faith in this town, and in us, deserves to be honored.”
“And let me be clear,” I continued. “We didn’t help grow Lennox Falls alone. This town grew because brilliant, dedicated families poured into it the same way we have.”
I lifted a hand, acknowledging the room. “The Grangers, the Johnsons, the Quartermans, the Pryces, every one of them essential.”
Heads swiveled, followed by a few murmurs.
“Lennox Falls grows because all of us believe this town is worth investing in.”
Applause rose again.
“That belief is why every dollar raised tonight goes right back into the community. The scholarship fund, the music programs in our schools and community centers, six hundred kids in our athletic program across a variety of sports, and the revitalization of once-neglected sections of our community, including Ironwood.”
Applause started building again.
My voice became thick as I looked out at the crowd. “Lennox Falls is not an accident. It’s proof that when a community invests in itself, the world pays attention.”
I looked at my siblings standing beside me, and I felt it. The weight. The responsibility. The pride.
“It is the honor of our lives to continue what our parents began. To take care of the town that took care of them… and us.”
I lifted my glass. “So thank you all for being here. For believing in what Ezekiel Lennox started when he bought that first plot of land as a freed man. For believing in what our parents saw when they chose to stay. For believing in what we are all building together.”
The standing ovation lasted a full two minutes, some guests wiping their eyes.