Sincere Bellamy
The Cartiers chose for me to deliver the bad news to Langford because I was the best one in the family to do it without sounding like a street nigga trying to cover a murder. So, I had Langford come to Bellamy Urban Development.
Langford came in looking worse than the last time I’d seen him. His tie was loosened. His eyes looked tired. His panic had started showing through the seams. I stood when he entered the conference room and reached for his hand.
“Sincere,” he greeted.
“Alderman.”
He sat down hard in the seat. “Please tell me that Jamir found something.”
Langford knew that the Cartiers had illegal ways to find things out, so he had come to us in hopes that we could do more than the police were and find out what happened to his daughter.
I slid a folder across the desk, but I kept my hand on it for a second before I let go. “Jamir dug into some things for us. It looks like Sienna was in trouble with the Feds.”
Langford stared at me like I had spoken another language. “With who?”
“The Feds,” I repeated.
He leaned back slowly. “That’s impossible.”
I shook my head. “I wish it was.”
He looked down at the folder but didn’t open it right away. “What kind of trouble?”
“She was about to be charged with conspiracy, wire fraud, and financial reporting issues tied to money moving through shell accounts and fake consulting invoices.”
Langford looked sick. “No,” he said quietly. Then he said louder, “No. Sienna would not be involved in anything like that.”
“I’m not saying she was for sure. I’m saying the Feds were about to press those charges against her.”
He opened the folder then. “She never said anything to me,” he muttered.
“She probably hid it because she was embarrassed, scared, or both. And if Agent Mallory still hasn’t brought this to you directly, that tells me she’s probably still looking around to see how far this goes.”
Langford’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“I’m saying if the Feds were closing in on Sienna, they may want to know whether you were involved too, since these funds supported your campaigns.”
“I knew nothing about this,” he insisted.
His shock wasn’t rehearsed. It was real. The confusion in his expression was genuine.
“I know.”
He rubbed both hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
The room went quiet for a second.
Then I added the sauce. “If she knew charges were coming, if she realized the pressure was closing in, she may have panicked and ran.”
His hands dropped from his face. “Ran?”
“It happens. People get scared to go to jail and find it easier to run, especially when they have the means to. I’m not surprised that she ran from your name being connected to this and blasted all over the news, federal time, public shame.
Once that panic hits, people run fast and don’t think clearly. ”
Langford looked down again at the papers. “She wouldn’t do that to me.”
“A frightened person doesn’t make decisions based on who they hurt. They make them based on survival.”
“She was scared,” he said quietly, more to himself than to me.
I agreed. “She most likely was.”
He looked up at me then, eyes redder than when he came in. “Sincere… if she ran, then I just need to know she’s okay. Ask Icon and Legend to please use whatever resources they have to find out where she is. I just want to know she’s okay.”
I held his gaze and nodded once. “We’ll do everything and anything we can to help.”
He closed his eyes for a second, relieved.
“But…” I folded my hands on the table. “In cases like these, if people don’t want to be found, they usually aren’t.”
Langford swallowed hard. Then he nodded like a man trying to accept something his spirit still wasn’t ready to.
Watching him break in real time, all I could think was that the cover story didn’t work because it was clever.
It worked because grief always reached for the version of the truth it could live with.
By the time I left the office, I was already running late for the cake-tasting appointment with Rhythm for the wedding.
Only Rhythm could have me hustling across the city for cake.
But I needed the distraction. I had just spent the last hour sitting across from a father whose world was ending in real time, helping him swallow a lie I needed him to believe.
Though I worked with the Cartiers, I had yet to grow as cold as they were.
They could do this shit with no remorse for the sake of ensuring their family stayed free and safe.
But my heart still went out to Langford because I knew his daughter was rotting in concrete on 83rd Street.
So, by the time I slid behind the wheel and headed toward Bronzeville, I was more than ready to talk about flavors and frosting types.
The bakery was on a corner lined with old brownstones. There was gold lettering on the window: Monet Black Women in Contemporary Visual Storytelling.”
“That sounds like some shit you should be doing.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” she asked, cheesing.
I loved hearing her talk about her work, loved the way her whole face came alive when she did, loved that she was finally getting the kind of recognition I knew she deserved.
Rhythm wasn’t one of those women waiting for a man to hand her an identity.
She came with vision, talent, and real substance.
Being beside her didn’t make me feel bigger because she was smaller; it made me feel whole because she was fully herself.
Chef Nia came back with the final option; coconut cream cake with pineapple filling and toasted meringue.
Rhythm took one bite and pointed her fork at me. “This is wedding cake.”
I tasted it. Then nodded slowly. “That might be the winner.”
“Might?” Rhythm pressed.
“That’s the winner, if you want it, baby.”
Grinning, Rhythm looked at Chef Nia. “This is it.”
Chef Nia smiled with a silent clap. “Good. Because I already had ideas for how I wanted to dress that flavor up.”
The three of us spent the next twenty minutes talking buttercream finish, floral placement, tier count, Rhythm wanting something elegant but still indulgent, and me wanting whatever made her happiest as long as I got to keep eating samples.
Once Chef Nia learned of the businesses we ran, she started bringing us samples of her menu, so that we would consider her for catering needs.
By the end of it, Rhythm had frosting on the corner of her mouth.
I leaned over and kissed it off before she could wipe it.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there.
That same passion that had always lived between us came right back.
With one look or touch, Rhythm could still make me forget where we were if I let her.
Chef Nia politely looked away and started gathering plates.
Rhythm smiled at me, devilishly. “Behave.”
“I am behaving.”
“You're thinking nasty.”
“I’m tasting cake with my fiancée. Of course, I’m thinking nasty.”
She laughed under her breath and shook her head.
And just like that, the weight I walked in with had eased enough for me to feel like myself again. That was what Rhythm did to me. She brought me back to myself without even trying too hard.
When we finally stood to leave, she linked her arm through mine, pressed close, and looked up at me with that soft expression that only belonged to me. “You good now?”
I looked down at her, at mine. “Yeah. I’m real good now.”