Chapter Four Receipts, Rage, and Bad Desire #2
Makayla’s voice thinned. “To make me look like I used my sister for attention.”
Trevon did not answer.
He did not have to.
Makayla turned away, pressing her hands against the edge of the table. Cold rage slipped, and the hot kind tried to climb up her throat.
Not because they came for her.
She expected that.
But Auntie Zella’s address.
Amira’s pain.
Her mother’s name somewhere in these files.
They had reached into her family like it was a drawer they could open.
Jarvis spoke from behind her.
“Makayla.”
“Don’t.”
His voice lowered. “Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
She spun on him. “What? You got another strategy quote? Another lesson on moving smarter? Another order that’s supposed to sound like protection?”
He absorbed that without flinching.
Then he said, “You’re not alone in this room.”
Makayla froze.
The words were simple.
Too simple.
Her anger did not know where to put them.
Jarvis held her stare. “That’s all.”
She looked away, but her chest hurt.
Trevon cleared his throat softly. “There’s more.”
Makayla laughed bitterly. “Of course there is.”
He opened AMIRA_BACKGROUND.
Jarvis stepped forward. “Trevon.”
Makayla lifted a hand. “Open it.”
Jarvis turned to her. “You don’t have to see all of this right now.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Makayla’s voice sharpened. “She is my sister.”
“And this is a weapon made out of her worst night.”
“That is exactly why I need to see what they were going to fire.”
Jarvis looked like he wanted to argue.
He didn’t.
Trevon opened the folder.
There were court notes. Old police call logs. Photos of Amira from social media, copied from years ago. A scanned statement. A list of old witnesses. A folder labeled RUSK_NOTES.
Makayla pointed. “Open that.”
Trevon clicked it.
A document appeared.
Selene Rusk’s name sat at the top.
Makayla read the first few lines and felt the room tilt.
Subject presents as emotionally unstable but attractive enough to gain sympathy if allowed to speak uninterrupted. Must reframe as attention-seeking. Family appears lower income, vulnerable to pressure. Sister Makayla aggressive. Monitor.
Makayla’s ears rang.
“She wrote that about Amira?” she whispered.
Trevon scrolled.
More notes.
Victim language should be challenged. Use “alleged incident.”Push party reputation. Suggest jealousy.Retrieve phone if possible. Audio file risk.Storage room camera may exist. Confirm deletion.
Makayla gripped the table so hard her fingers ached.
Storage room camera.
Audio file risk.
Retrieve phone.
Her sister had not lost proof.
Someone had taken it.
Jarvis’s voice came from close behind her. “Trevon, copy everything. Full backup. Off-site too.”
“Already started,” Trevon said.
Makayla looked at the screen until the words blurred.
Sister Makayla aggressive. Monitor.
Even back then, they had seen her.
Not as a grieving kid.
As a problem to track.
A laugh rose in her throat, but it came out cracked. “I was sixteen.”
Jarvis went still.
Makayla looked at him. “They monitored me when I was sixteen.”
His face darkened in a way that made the whole room feel smaller.
Trevon’s hands paused over the keyboard.
Makayla turned back to the screen and pointed at the video file inside the folder.
AMIRA_STORAGE_ROOM_OLD.mp4
“Open it.”
Jarvis said, “Makayla.”
“I said open it.”
Trevon did not move.
Makayla looked at him. “Open it, Trevon.”
Trevon’s eyes shifted to Jarvis.
Jarvis held Makayla’s stare for a long second.
Then he gave one small nod.
Trevon clicked the file.
The video opened with grainy footage of a hallway outside a storage room.
No sound at first. The camera angle was high and slightly tilted.
A younger Amira appeared on screen in a black catering dress, carrying a tray of empty glasses.
She looked tired. Pretty. Alive in a way that made Makayla’s heart crack.
Makayla pressed a hand over her mouth.
The video showed a man stepping into the hallway after Amira. Older. Smooth suit. Confident walk. He said something the camera did not catch. Amira shook her head and tried to move past him.
He blocked her.
Makayla stopped breathing.
Jarvis stepped closer, but said nothing.
On the screen, Amira backed away. The man grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the storage room door. She struggled. The tray fell. Glass broke across the floor.
Then the video cut.
Black screen.
Makayla stared.
“That’s it?” she whispered.
The video resumed after a jump in time.
Amira stumbled out of the storage room, one strap of her dress torn, hair loosened, face wet. She grabbed something from the floor—her phone—and ran.
The man followed seconds later, adjusting his jacket.
Then another figure appeared at the edge of the screen.
A woman in heels.
Sharp suit.
Sleek hair.
Selene Rusk.
She bent, picked something up from the floor, and looked toward the camera.
Then the footage ended.
The room sat in silence.
Makayla did not move.
She was back in her aunt’s kitchen. Sixteen years old. Listening to Amira sob. Listening to adults whisper. Watching her mother fold into herself. Watching the city choose a man’s clean suit over a girl’s torn strap.
All these years, proof had existed.
All these years, Selene had known.
Makayla turned away from the screen.
Her legs almost gave.
Jarvis caught her by the arms before she hit the table.
She tried to pull back on instinct. “Don’t.”
He let go but stayed close. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“No, you’re fighting air. Breathe.”
Makayla hated that she listened.
She pulled in one breath.
Then another.
Her body shook with the kind of anger that had grief buried inside it.
Trevon’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry.”
Makayla shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Save it.”
“I did.”
She looked at him.
He nodded toward the screen. “Three copies. One external. One cloud vault. One sent to legal with timestamp.”
Jarvis said, “Send one to my attorney and one to the private investigator.”
Makayla turned on him. “No.”
Jarvis’s eyes met hers.
“This is my sister’s evidence,” she said. “Nobody moves it without Amira knowing.”
“You’re right.”
Again, the quick agreement tripped her.
Makayla blinked hard. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Being reasonable after making me want to throw something at you.”
His mouth barely curved. “I contain multitudes.”
“Don’t use college words with me right now.”
Trevon actually smiled.
Makayla pointed at him. “I saw that.”
He lowered his eyes to the laptop. “No, you didn’t.”
Jarvis looked back at the screen, and the almost-smile vanished. “We need Amira protected before this moves another inch.”
Makayla’s chest tightened. “I’ll call her.”
“Here?”
“No. Somewhere private.”
Jarvis nodded. “Use the blue room upstairs. No cameras, no staff.”
Makayla looked at him. “You have a blue room?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you do.”
“It’s a sitting room.”
“Villain sitting room.”
“Blue villain sitting room.”
She hated that she almost smiled.
Almost.
That felt wrong with Amira’s pain still glowing on the screen.
So she left before the feeling could fully form.
The blue room was softer than the rest of Jarvis’s residence.
Deep blue walls. Cream sofa. Tall windows facing a private garden. Bookshelves with actual books instead of decorative lies. A brass lamp threw warm light across the room even though it was still afternoon.
Makayla stood near the window and called Amira.
Her sister answered on the third ring.
“Kayla?”
One word.
That was all it took for Makayla’s throat to close.
Amira sounded sleepy, maybe peaceful, and Makayla hated that she had to disturb it.
“Hey,” Makayla said, forcing her voice steady. “Where are you?”
“At home. Why?”
“You alone?”
A pause. “Yes.”
Makayla closed her eyes.
Amira’s voice sharpened. “What happened?”
“I need you to listen to me and not panic.”
“People only say that when they about to make somebody panic.”
“I know.”
“Makayla.”
Makayla pressed her free hand against the window frame.
“The lawyer from your old case. Selene Rusk. She may be connected to something happening with my page.”
Silence.
Then Amira’s breathing changed.
Small.
Fast.
Makayla’s eyes burned.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m so sorry. I tried to keep you away from it, but they already had your name. They had files, old notes, and…”
She stopped.
Amira whispered, “And what?”
Makayla stared out at the garden.
There was a stone fountain outside, water spilling quietly into a dark basin. So peaceful. So rude.
“They had a video,” Makayla said.
The line went silent again.
This silence was worse.
Makayla forced herself to continue. “From the hallway. That night. It shows enough, Amira. It shows him grabbing you. It shows you coming out. It shows Selene picking something up after you ran.”
Amira made a sound like the air had left her.
Makayla’s heart broke fresh.
“I didn’t know if I should tell you over the phone,” Makayla said, voice shaking now. “But Auntie said you needed to hear it from me before anybody else. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mira.”
For a long time, Amira said nothing.
Then she whispered, “I told them.”
“I know.”
“I told them there was a camera.”
“I know.”
“They said I was confused.”
“I know.”
“They said I was making pieces fit because I wanted somebody to blame.”
Makayla wiped at her face.
Amira’s voice cracked. “I knew I saw that little red light.”
Makayla pressed her hand over her mouth.
“I knew it,” Amira said again, but this time there was anger under the pain. “All these years, I thought maybe I remembered wrong because everybody kept telling me I did.”
“You didn’t remember wrong.”
Amira began to cry.
Not loud.
That would have been easier.
She cried quietly, like somebody still trying to be polite to pain.
Makayla slid down onto the sofa. “I have it now. Nobody is posting it. Nobody is moving it without you. I swear.”
“Who sent it?”
“I think Selene or somebody working with her. They were going to use it against me. Against us.”
Amira laughed through tears. “Of course they were.”
“I’m going to fix this.”
“No.”
Makayla froze. “What?”
Amira’s voice steadied in a way Makayla did not expect. “You’re not going to fix my life like it’s one of your posts.”