Chapter 5 #2
I thought of the twins asleep at their grandparents house with my niece, Genesis. I thought of Kenya’s laugh echoing through halls that felt hollow now. I thought of a man who believed nostalgia made him dangerous.
“I never stopped being ready,” I said. “I just stopped needing to be seen.”
The room already knew what time it was.
“First pressure point?” I asked.
X didn’t look up. “Money.”
Of course.
Charles believed cash made him untouchable. As long as he could move it, hide it, reroute it, he could survive anything.
That belief was about to bankrupt him.
“Freeze everything tied to his offshore shells,” I said. “Not all at once. Make him believe he has an ounce of control,” I smirked. “Stagger it.”
Channy tilted her head. “You want him confused.”
“I want him desperate,” I replied.
X nodded. “Give me ninety seconds.”
Screens shifted. Accounts flickered from green to yellow to red. The monitors looked like a slow bleed, the kind that made men panic and start calling people they shouldn’t.
Phones lit up across the room.
Channy stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He’s going to hurt her to get your attention.”
“He already has my attention,” I told her.
She swallowed once and straightened. “Kenya taught me how to breathe when things get loud. I won’t fold.”
Pride and fear twisted together in my chest.
“Good,” I said. “Because we don’t rush this.”
That was the hardest part.
The old me would’ve been outside already. Gun-heavy. Name ringing out. Bodies falling fast.
But this wasn’t 2003. I had soldiers, and I would not have Kenya come home to me behind bars.
This was war by attrition.
And I was better at that than any motherfucka.
X snapped his fingers once. “Done.”
“He just lost access to sixty percent of his liquid cash,” X said. “The rest is locked behind flags that’ll trigger audits if he touches it.”
Channy smiled sharply. “He’ll be bleeding.”
“Not enough,” I said. “Hit his people.”
X’s eyes flicked to me. “Do you want them scared or flipped?”
“Both.”
A name popped up—one of Charles’s drivers. I recognized him.
“That one,” I said. “Tell Jones to bring him to me.”
Channy didn’t hesitate. “On it.”
She reached for her jacket.
I grabbed her wrist. “You don’t go alone.”
She looked up at me. “I won’t.”
That was trust, too.
I walked into my office and opened the safe behind the painting Kenya picked for herself. Inside, the old tools waited. I didn’t choose out of nostalgia. I chose out of consequence.
The mirror caught my reflection—older, cleaner, heavier. But my eyes hadn’t changed.
X appeared in the doorway.
“He’s calling everyone,” he said. “Nobody’s answering.”
“Good,” I replied.
“He’ll escalate.”
“I know.”
A few hours later, X fed me audio through my headset.
The driver sounded fearful and regretful.
“I don’t know where she is,” he whimpered.
Channy’s voice came through calm, almost bored. “It’s funny that you don’t know shit, but you know who she is. I’m sure you know where he would take her. And you know who he trusts to watch her.”
Silence.
He began to breathe harder, tied up in our warehouse. The same one that Channy killed Natalie in. I was worried this place would bring back awful memories for her, but being here made her more powerful.
She aimed her gun at his shoulder and, with precise aim, shot his right one while throwing her Higonokami knife at his left shoulder.
The driver yelped out in pain.
That was the sound of a man realizing loyalty was a luxury.
Names began to spill out.
Not the one we wanted. But when we heard, Cameron, X’s ears perked up.
“That name is familiar. She was part of the pictures that were stalking Channy.”
X’s laptop chimed with a notification from the cameras we tapped into across the city.
One of Charles’s lieutenants was stopped by an officer on our payroll for a “random” traffic stop that wasn’t random. Another lost access to a warehouse he thought was safe.
Collateral love.
You didn’t just hurt the man.
You hurt everything he ever touched.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
Breathing filled the line. Ragged. Controlled, like somebody trying not to cry too loud.
“She told me to call you,” a woman whispered.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“What did she say?” I asked, voice level.
“That… you’d know what to do next,” the woman said. “She said not to panic. Said you’d understand.”
I closed my eyes once.
Kenya never wasted words.
“Anything else?” I pressed.
The woman hesitated.
Then she said it.
“For the restie.”
The world stopped.
Not my heart — that stayed steady. But everything else froze around that sentence as it had just been hit with ice.
Only one person on this planet said that like that.
Only one person used it when things were about to get ugly, but still under control.
I exhaled slowly.
“She okay?” I asked.
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
X was already standing.
“That was her,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “But it was her math.”
Channy swallowed hard. “She’s alive.”
“She’s alert,” I corrected. “And she’s still running the board.”
X’s fingers were already moving again. Faster now. Sharper.
“That phrase,” he said. “She only uses it when she’s buying time.”
“Exactly,” I replied.
Kenya didn’t send reassurance.
She sent instruction.
“She’s telling us not to rush,” Channy said quietly.
“She’s telling us she’s not broken,” I added. “She’s telling us Charles is slipping.”
I stood, every muscle settling into place like something ancient had just been woken up properly.
“She stabbed somebody,” I said calmly. “Or she threatened them. Or she rewired the room just enough to create opportunity.”
X nodded. “And she trusted a woman to carry the message.”
“Which means she’s controlling who has access,” I finished.
I walked to the screen and stared at the live feed from earlier — Kenya’s jaw tight, eyes sharp, calculating even in restraint.
“That’s my wife,” I said quietly. “She don’t ask for saving. She engineers exits.”
Channy wiped her palms on her jeans. "What now?"
I looked at both of them.
“Now,” I said, “we stop circling.”
X’s eyes darkened. “You ready?”
I smiled — not wide, not loud.
Dead calm.
“She just told me she’s ready,” I replied.
I picked up my phone and started issuing orders to the soldiers.
“This means it’s time to close.”