Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Since my wife didn’t have court until eleven this morning, she took Niya to school.
When she mentioned it, Niya ran to me, gave me a quick ass hug, and told me goodbye.
Although my baby girl was ditching me, all I could do was smile.
Mireya took her last Monday after my fucked up Sunday with Shuga and now Niya wants her to take her everyday.
With her schedule, that’s not possible, but when Mireya can, she does.
They left for Diamond Elite at seven, so I came into the office early.
I’ve been going nonstop since then, but I need a break to make the call I’ve been putting off since my investigator, Maxine, emailed me yesterday afternoon.
Highly skilled, Max found the information on my sister and the woman Asali cheated on Shuga with.
I don’t know why I’m hesitant to open it.
There’s no doubt that Asali cheated or that my sister exists.
It’s been a little over a week and he hasn’t returned home.
Shuga is still asking for space and time but she’s at least messaging us now, to me and my brothers’ relief.
She sent out a group voice note last Wednesday telling us that she was doing better but needed time to mourn the loss of her marriage and she answers our individual messages.
Respecting her wishes is hard as fuck, but I’m falling back.
As long as she answers my text messages, I guess I can manage.
When I get the urge not to, my wife gently reminds me that Shuga’s strong and will pull through this.
As if reading my mind, my wife calls as I’m looking at the unopened email. Because of our hectic schedules, we share calendars, so I know she’s free for the next hour and a half. It’s a few minutes after one, so she just got out of court.
“What’s up, my kyau?” I answer.
“Ugh,” she sighs. “Sick of cocky defense attorneys.”
“I hope I’m not included in that bunch.”
“Never you, baby. I’m talking about cocky and ineffective ones. My husband is arrogant, rightfully so, and a highly skilled litigator. I wouldn’t dare classify him with the idiot who just argued in my court,” she says and I smile.
“I want to see your beautiful face,” I say, then start a FaceTime call.
She accepts and I watch as she removes her robe, smooths her hands down her soft curves, then sits in her chair.
Every movement she makes is fucking perfection and I don’t want to miss any of them.
I love my wife but also I’m obsessed with her, every aspect of her.
“Aww, that’s better. Those robes are hot,” she says. “But how are you? Did you open the email?”
“Looking at it now,” I admit.
“Open it, baby. We can do it together. You already know she exists.”
“Yeah, I know, but whatever’s in this really makes this shit real. I’ll have a name and maybe a face to put with Asali’s betrayal.”
“It’s already real.”
“You’re right,” I say, then open the email.
As always, Max is thorough. I have info, a lot of it, and pictures.
“Damn,” I utter. “She’s my sister. I can’t deny that shit.
She looks just like Asali and her name is Alami.
In Hausa, that means she was born on a Thursday.
Wow. He gave her a traditional name.” I shake my head in pure disbelief. This shit is real.
“Wow,” Mireya says. “So, he’s in her life?”
“Well, looks like he was at birth at least. I’m sure he named her,” I say, then read on. “She’s a senior at Douglasville Prep. She’s an honors student with a 3.9 G.P.A. and she’s on debate. She’s smart.”
“Smart like her brother.”
“She has a cell phone number,” I say. “Should I call her?”
“What about her mother?”
“Oh, I don’t have shit to say to her.”
“I know, baby, but Alami is a minor.”
“She’s seventeen and my sister. It’ll be fine,” I counter.
“But you don’t know what your sister knows. You just found out about her; she might not know anything about y’all. Your call could shatter her entire world if she doesn’t.”
“Shit. You’re right.” I sigh, then open the separate file for Laticia Morris. “She lives in D-Ville, the old projects here that were renovated. She’s fifty-two and works at The Drexel, the big hotel downtown in Concierge,” I summarize from the file.
“What does she look like? Is she pretty?” she asks.
After examining the face on the copy of the license, I say, “She looks okay. Not as beautiful as Shuga for sure.”
“Oh I know that. Your mother is beautiful. But do you have her number? Call her first.”
“And say what? I’m not really feeling calling the woman who fucked Asali,” I scoff.
“I can call her for you,” my kyau says, instantly relieving my apprehension. “I’ll tell her who I am and see if she’ll talk to me.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course, baby. Send me the number. I’ll handle it and let you know.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” she says, flashing her pretty ass smile. “Did you eat lunch yet?” Last night for dinner, she made delicious ass jerk chicken pasta. We all have the leftovers for lunch, even Niya. She loved it and wanted it in her lunch kit today too.
“I was about to eat after this. The morning has been hell. I had two clients booked last night and I walked into two first appearance hearings. It’s been a day.”
“Small things to a giant. You got this, baby,” she says and I smile.
“Hype your man up then.”
“All the time.”
“What about you? The debate is in four days. Did Duke stop by with your key points?” I ask.
“Yeah. He had a good amount based on the last polls but I’m really not worried.
My bench record speaks for itself. All of my rulings and sentences have been fair, across the board, and I know who I am.
There’s nothing Richardson can throw at me that I can’t catch.
I’m ready. I earned my spot and no one is going to get me out of it,” she says with so much confidence.
“Damn, kyau. You are and hearing you speak so confidently like that is sexy as hell,” I say and her beautiful face lights up.
“Now, you’re hyping me up. I like it though. Debate will be fine as long as you are right there in the front row looking at me like you are now.”
“I’ll be front and center,” I assure her. “But did you eat lunch?”
“I’m about to warm it up and eat while I look over these briefs.”
“You do that and I’ll warm mine up too.”
“Then let’s have a working lunch together. I’ll call you back once I heat mine.”
“Bet, lunch with my kyau is just what I need,” I say before ending the call and staring at the picture of Asali’s mistress. How could he do this to Shuga?
Before closing the file, I text the number to Mireya and program Alami’s into mine. Then I walk out of my office to see Aven standing at her desk.
“Do you need something?” she rushes out.
“I’m just going to the breakroom. I’m going to get my lunch.”
“You ordered something?” she asks. I rarely have time for lunch and she normally orders for me.
“No. My wife cooked. She sent a container for you too.”
“She did? She’s a keeper but let me get it and warm it,” she insists.
“Nah. I got it. What do you want to drink?” I ask.
Because I know defending clients can be an all-day, exhausting job, I provide small but appreciative perks for my team.
There’s a relaxation room, large and soundproof with natural lighting, indoor plants, and serene wall art that captures the outdoors.
There are blackout curtains and the room is furnished with comfortable recliners and five massage chairs.
I also have a fully stocked breakroom with two refrigerators, one packed with water, juices, and energy drinks, a microwave, and a toaster.
There’s a coffee and tea bar and free snack and cold vending machines.
“One of those natural energy drinks, the strawberry one, please,” she says.
“I got it.”
I journey to the breakroom, warm both containers, then grab Aven’s drink and two waters for myself. When I’m back in my office, I call my wife and we eat lunch together on FaceTime. Right when we are about to end the call, she makes a curious face.
“What’s up?”
“She texted me back,” she says.
“Who?”
“Laticia. I told her who I was and asked if we could talk. She says she will call me after she gets off work at five,” she says and I nod. My words escape me. This whole situation has me at a loss. “It’ll be fine, baby. I promise.”
We end our call and I clean my desk. For the rest of the day, I immerse myself into work to avoid watching the time.
Before I know it, it’s a little after three and almost time to pick up Niya.
Her school lets out at three forty-five.
When I grab my cell to take it off the charger, it rings.
It’s Shuga. All we have been getting are texts, so to see her calling makes me smile.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hey, son,” she says, sounding more like her normal self. “Don’t be mad, but I picked up my little princess.”
“Hey, Daddy,” Niya says in the background.
“I missed her. Plus, I needed a little sunshine around here and she is my joy. I hope you and Mireya don’t mind,” she says, almost pleading.
“You know she’s always good with you, Shuga. I can pick her up later,” I say.
“Or tomorrow? We’re going to paint in the basement and make masa,” she reveals and I really smile. She feels like painting and cooking. She must be feeling better.
The basement is Shuga’s sanctuary and painting space.
When we were kids, we couldn’t go anywhere near it and neither could Asali.
She said we were too big and too rough to be around her paintings and supplies and she was dead ass.
At one point, there was a lock on the door, but that wasn’t sufficient enough.
When I was ten, she had one of those code locks installed.
The only person allowed in the basement is Niya, because according to Shuga, she possesses her talent and eye for art.
“Then I’ll get her tomorrow,” I happily concede.