chapter 11
Wesley
The latest post from Ms. Tea followed me from breakfast at the Hudson Café with Hendrix, all the way up to a few seconds ago when someone’s grandma called me a dirtbag as she waited at a red light.
A few days ago, I probably would’ve told her off, respect be damned.
But today, I simply waved at her and kept it moving because Ms. Tea had just performed a good deed, albeit at my expense.
For three days straight, it had been one thing after another. The emergence of another blogger who claimed to have exclusive information about me and my family kicked things off on Monday. Fortunately, this person wasn’t anonymous. I knew her.
Samira Jackson debuted her new gossip page, The Tea Whisperer, hinting that she’d be sharing inside knowledge about the elite Black families of Detroit. Since she’d positioned herself to be direct competition for Ms. Tea, she’d teased an exclusive Batchelor story in her first post.
The breaking news about my family was, of course, about me.
It had started sweet enough, with her contacting me to set up an interview to tell my side of the story before it aired.
Things took a turn when I declined her offer.
Moments later, she released a video “revealing” that I had a three-year-old daughter in Wellspring, Michigan, and had never paid a dime in child support.
All hell broke loose shortly after my attorney got the video taken down before it gained traction. Thank you, Albany. She had been tracking Samira’s social media activity for days and received a notification that Samira had gone live before it gained traction.
Samira doubled down on her attack by interviewing my so-called “baby mama” to prove that I was a deadbeat father. She’d also uploaded a second video about the wedding shower with scathing commentary about Kay, Brianna, and Albany.
Countless content creators latched on to the drama, dragging Kay for being careless with Amir’s feelings—and me simply because it was popular. The ensuing drama pitted several families against one another, and long-term relationships were strained under the weight of the scrutiny.
A lawsuit was filed. Batchelor versus Jackson.
Kay called off the wedding.
Granny banished me to my home office until the drama simmered down.
Another lawsuit was filed. Cobb versus Jackson.
Hendrix and Brianna called it quits again.
Amir left the dental practice.
Kay disappeared to parts unknown with Brianna.
And Albany limited contact with me to short texts. No mention of the progress we’d made, the kiss she’d initiated.
Then Ms. Tea posted her blog. And all the other influencers, including Samira, switched gears to cover yet another episode in the nonexistent Wesley Batchelor drama.
Is it totally untrue? No. According to Granny, I could get fired any day. How did Ms. Tea know that?
Even though the “breaking news” kept me in the spotlight, I was glad Kay wasn’t the topic of discussion. But the timing was strategic. It posted thirty minutes after the Garland contract was finalized. Too late to impact the deal. Too convenient to be a coincidence. Which begged the question …
Is Ms. Tea someone close to me? Absolutely.
Albany must’ve thought the same thing because she called.
“Hey,” I answered.
Her voice filled my car over the Bluetooth speaker. “Did you see the latest post?”
“I did.”
“I told you it was someone you know.”
“Very likely,” I agreed.
She grumbled a curse and let out a heavy sigh. “So, we should probably sit down and talk about it.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed. “Will it kill you?”
The sound of her soft, airy giggle settled into my heart and squeezed it tightly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I don’t know. You’ve been acting funny.”
She gasped. “What?”
“Do I have to elaborate?”
The line was silent for a moment, before she murmured, “It was too much. I couldn’t confront it, so it was easier to avoid you.”
My stomach roiled. “And now?”
“I still don’t know, Wes.”
There was a part of me that needed answers to the questions that continued to form in my mind.
About her past, about our future. If we had one.
However, I needed her to feel comfortable with me, to be sure of me.
I had to let her control our movement, whether it was two steps forward or three steps back.
“It’s okay, Bug. Let’s just focus on this case. ”
“The baby in Wellspring—”
“There is no baby,” I interrupted. The last thing I ever wanted was to be someone’s deadbeat daddy. My father wasn’t the best example, and I would never willingly put another human being through what I’d gone through.
More silence.
“If you would’ve let me finish,” she said, “I was going to tell you that I reached out to your supposed baby mama.”
I let out a humorless chuckle. “Ah, you got jokes. What did she say?”
“She told me that she reached out to Ms. Tea as well.”
Intrigued, I asked, “When?”
“Months ago.”
The pieces were starting to click. “But Ms. Tea didn’t post about it.”
“Exactly,” Albany said. “She picks and chooses what she divulges about you on her platforms. She’s a gatekeeper of information about you and your family, which—”
“Could be another indication that she’s close,” I mused. “Who’s on your suspect list?”
“I’ve already crossed your cousins off the list. Besides Jackson, no one hates you that much.
And Ms. Tea uses a VPN, so it’s been difficult to track her location.
But I know what I’m doing. Now that I’ve been able to order the equipment I need, it shouldn’t take long to unveil her identity.
In the meantime, social engineering. I’ve been analyzing her social media interactions, taking notes. Trying to piece clues together.”
Albany had always been interested in cyber security.
We used to tease her about her multiple monitors, network mappers, and other software she used to hone her skills.
It made sense that she’d majored in psychology and minored in computer science, then taken her talents to the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
She didn’t know it, but I’d followed her career, checked in on her over the years.
I knew that she’d earned several promotions while she was at the Bureau and was well respected amongst her peers.
Although I suspected she would’ve left her job to start her firm eventually, the divorce forced her hand before she was ready.
I was grateful that Granny had an opening and a reason to hire her.
I checked the map displayed on the touchscreen, turned down Kensington Avenue, and drove a quarter of a mile until I made it to my destination. “What about John?” I parked in an empty spot in front of the building. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. I’ve tried to catch him, but he’s avoiding me. And I haven’t been able to rule him out either. At the same time, I don’t think it’s him. I should know more this week, though.”
Turning the ignition off, I asked, “What are you planning?”
“I’m planning to mind my business.” She chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. Just stop by when you get back.”
“Will you be ready when I get there?” I challenged.
“To discuss the case? Yes. To discuss anything else? Time will tell.”
I smiled to myself. “Got it.”
“Bye, Wes.”
Before I got out of my truck, I scanned the immediate area. Elijah Moore lived in a quiet suburb of Detroit, close enough to keep his ear to the ground yet far enough from the drama and danger he’d once thrived on.
When I stepped into his small apartment, I paused at the threshold.
It had been years since I’d seen him in person.
Time, too much liquor, and hard living had taken its toll on him.
He bore the telltale signs of prolonged medical steroid use for his condition.
His once chiseled jaw was swollen, his eyes bloodshot.
He was a shell of the man who’d controlled the block back in the day, the man who’d been there for me more than my own father had.
“What are you staring at?” he growled. “Bring yo’ ass in here.”
Grinning, I walked over to the kitchen. “Some things never change. You still like talking shit.”
“I can only be me.” He shuffled over to me, pointed his cane at a chair. “Sit down.”
“After I put this shit away.”
I emptied the bags, organizing his cabinets while I put stuff away. “You like it here?” I opened the refrigerator, checked the date on the milk and the cheese. “They treating you alright?”
“I can’t complain.” Elijah crossed his legs. “Beats a jail cell.”
Elijah had recently been released from federal prison. While my father lived the corporate lie, Elijah was doing the dirty work for their criminal organization. After his conviction and my father’s subsequent death, their criminal empire crumbled, leaving Elijah to take the fall.
“Thanks for making the call,” he added.
The small senior living community provided the comforts of home with access to dedicated staff support.
His apartment had plenty of living space, a master bedroom and bathroom, a fully equipped kitchen, and a balcony.
Elijah could live an independent life, while taking advantage of the many services offered to their residents.
“No worries.” I joined him at the small table. “Glad I could help.”
“It’s good to see you.” He patted my hand. “It’s been a while.”
“I wanted to be here when you moved in, but work is pretty busy.”
He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. Erica helped me out.”
Over the years, I kept in touch with Elijah through letters.
Initially, I wrote because I wanted to know information.
The police had tied a convenient bow on my father’s death, and I still didn’t believe the sequence of events leading up to that day.
The timeline wasn’t right. Eventually, my anger wouldn’t allow me to continue my search for the truth, so I gave up my investigation.
But I’d never stopped communicating with Elijah.
I tapped the table with my thumb. “Erica told me what the doctor said.”