Excerpt Mr. Alpha Undone
“There are three types of men. Those born into privilege, those who are stagnant, and those who hustle to chase their dreams.”
~ Titan Stone ~
TITAN
I used to be a selfish motherfucker. No other way to put it. My parents struggled in life, making my only goal to ensure that I wouldn’t have to. Money. Success. Power. Those were my top motivations, with everything else in life falling by the wayside. Until, that is, I came to learn about my own family’s past.
My family originated from Tulsa, Oklahoma. A place once full of Black community and true excellence, before hatred turned it into a bloody, forgotten piece of history. Black Wall Street. A term that never failed to hit me straight in the jawline since the moment I first heard it, making my goal from that point forward clear. Not only to see Black Wall Street return, providing a steady and lasting beacon on how resilient our ancestors were, but to raise Black equity as a whole.
Now this wasn’t a new idea, and I sure as hell wasn’t a revolutionary mofo like Alexander Miles creating some new automated door design that would change elevators and by extension the world. Naw, I was a realist. Set out to make a buck, and now shifting my energy to that of my community. Don’t get it twisted, though, because I was also not the type of man to underestimate.
I got my first job when I was ten. Made my first thousand when I was sixteen selling T-shirts I’d hustled to create. Hit ten-thousand dollars in college, where I learned—mainly outside of the classroom—that the difference between success and failure was your mindset. As long as the lessons I learned every time I failed equated to a larger gain the next time, then ultimately every failure was just a part of my success.
Joining an investment firm before I even graduated, and then moving to a venture capitalist enterprise once my bachelor’s was secure, had to have been my best financial decision. Those moves got me through the door, and it’s from inside of the game that I discovered the entirety of Black equity could use some serious assistance. We may be doctors, lawyers, investors, venture capitalists, and millionaires, but we were not Black Wall Street, making and spending money solely in our own communities focused on raising our gains. And where there’s a hole in the market, that’s exactly where I, Titan Stone, could always be found.
“Man, did you hear me?” Porter yelled through my phone.
“Damn, what?” My eardrums were still ringing as I switched my phone to speaker mode, dropping it on the kitchen counter. “You know I got a lot on my mind these days.”
“When do you not? I mean, do you even have time to get any recently?” I could picture the dumbfounded expression on his face as though he were standing right in front of me instead of hundreds of miles away.
Pulling some whiskey out of the fridge, I ignored his rhetorical questions. Truth was, I was way too busy for even a casual booty call lately. Between my responsibilities for the Mr. Black Organization, my career, and my side hustles, my time was extended beyond capacity. Refusing to fail at any of it was the only option, meaning everything else would have to wait.
“I’m sorry, do you still know what gettin’ some means?” he joked. “It’s sex. S.E.X.”
“Poe, I dare you to try me one more time and continue spewing your ridiculous shit,” I warned.
He cleared his voice, the remainder of his words switching to his business tone. “My bad, Tye. As the newly appointed Mr. Black Chicago, I got nothing but respect for my elders,” he boasted. “So, genuinely, how’s the planning coming?”
Porter was only five years younger than me, and truly the little brother I never asked for. We’d been through a lot together over the years, making him one of only a handful of people who I’d allow to speak off the wall to me.
“It’s coming,” I replied before taking a swig of my drink. “I’ve got tons of big plans for Dallas, and this Juneteenth event is about to be the principal launch for all of it. Not only am I overseeing the plans for a week-long event in five different Dallas neighborhoods leading up to Juneteenth, but the final day’s festival in the newly extended Fabrication Yard is set to rewrite the standards.”
“Dallas is a nice city and all, but you know nothing compares to the Chi. Won’t matter what you do, bro, my event will easily trump yours.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” I chuckled. Porter was always a cocky asshole. A trait I tended to admire when he wasn’t annoying the hell out of me. I wasn’t worried though. He was a new buck out here and I was excited for him. Besides, every Mr. Black Juneteenth event becoming a staple in their city was ultimately a win for me as well.
“Anyway, I’m set on most items, but as I was telling you last week, I still haven’t found a replacement photographer after my last one dropped out. Met with a few, but don’t think they’re the right fit.” I took another sip, entering through the large door on my home office. “However, with the photographer being an integral part I need for my next steps, I can’t afford to continue to be quite so selective.”
“Glad to hear it. Because I hired an event photographer for you.”
I nearly choked up the liquor I’d just swallowed as Porter’s words made their way to my ears.
“This better be another one of your jokes.” My voice remained steady, as it usually did. Although, I could feel my shoulders growing more tense as Porter continued to speak.
“Just hear me out,” he said slowly. “Her name is Solange Raven and she’s an incredibly skilled event photographer from up here. She moved to Dallas a couple years ago, but travels a lot for work, and that’s probably why you haven’t already connected with her in your search for a replacement. She just covered an event for me six months ago, and SoSo is seriously the best there is out there.”
“Who the fuck is SoSo?” I could feel my voice raise an octave. Something that rarely happened, even if it was far below what anyone else would deem as angry.
“Man, I just told you.” He slowed down his words even more, pronouncing every syllable. “Solange Raven, your new photographer.”
My jaw clenched before I could find the words.
“Let me get this straight …” I humorlessly laughed, placing the phone back on my ear. “You not only found a photographer whose work I’ve never seen and who sounds like one of your side pieces and not a legit professional, but you also hired her for my event without me doing so much as a phone interview?”
“Yep, but I knew you’d want to meet her, so I handled setting that shit up, too,” he replied lightheartedly as if that were doing me a favor.
I knew with his last name being Crowne, Porter would step out of place one day. Coming from a powerful family had too many of these young cats thinking they ran shit. But I’ll admit, this wasn’t something I’d seen coming, and he was fucking with me more than anyone had dared to in over a decade.
“Listen, little Crowne, call up your SoSo, cancel whatever the hell you promised her, and as my gift to you, you might just live through our next in-person meetup.”
“See there you go again, acting old,” he said in between what sounded like chewing. “Y’all generation be so dramatic sometimes.”
“We from the same generation, nigga!”
He snorted like he always did when I reminded him of that. “Anyways, I gotta run, Tye. Solange will be arriving at your place any minute now. Keep me appraised of how it turns out.”
“Did you just say you gave this girl my home address?” All his other condescending words fell on deaf ears the second he uttered your place.
“Yeah, but don’t worry. Like I said, she’s a real one.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Oh, and they like to be called woman, Tye, not girls. Peace out.”
Porter hung up the phone before I could get another word out.
“No this mothafucka didn’t,” I mumbled to myself. He was always bold, but this was a new level. Not only had he stepped all the way out of bounds, but he also hadn’t provided me with any of her information for me to cancel, and this dude said she’d be here any minute. What the hell time is that?
My question was quickly answered as my doorbell sung out. I’d have the thirty steps it’d take me to reach my front door to regain my composure after the ridiculous bomb that Porter just dropped. I didn’t care who the hell this woman was, this was not how I did business. Sure, it was more Porter’s fault than whoever was at my door, but I’d have to deal with his ass later. First and foremost, would be shutting this agreement down before it went any further.