Chapter 6
T reason wasn’t a humble winner. He gloated and relished in catching me red-handed, making it hard to sleep.
I replayed every decision from the moment I entered the convention hall.
It wasn’t until the sun crept between my blinds that I reached the end of my night, still confused about where I went wrong.
By noon, my sneakers dragged me inside the Jeanette Simmons Community Center with a check tucked in my purse. You had to give to get, and this donation helped my nonprofit look legit.
“Miss Dixon!” The director, an older Black woman with tight curls and a church-lady energy, beamed as she greeted me. “What a surprise.”
“Hi, Mrs. Jackie. You don’t have to call me Miss .”
“Of course I do. You’re all grown up now,” she leaned back, rubbing my arms like she used to at camp. “What brings you by?”
“A little something for the kids and you too,” I said, handing her the check.
She blinked at the amount.
“This is more than a little .”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“Thank you. This will help so many kids. Half their parents can’t even afford for them to be here,” she sighed, planting her hands on her hips, “But I let them anyway, because if they’re not here, it’s no telling where they’d be.”
“What are they doing today?”
“We’re exploring the influence of African American culture on music from soul to trap. Then they’ll showcase what they learned through a musical.”
I giggled at Miss Jackie’s wild imagination, “Make sure I get a ticket. What did Ezra say about your latest idea?”
He was always the first to let Miss Jackie know her ideas were gay or wack . Usually, he would’ve run over, batting those long eyelashes he didn’t need, by now.
“Where is he?” I asked, scanning the room for chubby cheeks and sandy brown tendrils.
Her brows pinched, taking a minute to think, “He hasn’t been here in a few days now that I think of it.”
“When he comes back, tell him I said hi.”
“I sure will. I know he’ll be upset he missed you.”
“I’m sure I’ll hear about it.”
“Thank you again for your donation, Navie.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was no thanks needed. Her imagination offered me an escape—a place to be a child and refine my acting skills.
Initially, Sloane refused to drag me to the east side to hang out at the rec center playing make-believe.
Her lesson to never take no for an answer backfired when I refused to play nice with husband number two until she said yes.
Miss Jackie hugged me again, thanking The Green Ribbon Project, before I left to blow off some steam. The tennis racket felt weighted in my palm while throwing up a serve. It had been a while since I felt the need to hit the court. The sun was relentless and hot, but I welcomed the burn.
Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I tossed the ball again—a welcome distraction from whatever game Treason wanted to play.
I didn’t owe him anything. Not my time, or an explanation.
Yet it still ate me alive trying to find the thread I left hanging.
It followed me from the court to the post office. It was damn near making me obsessive.
No way, Treason is that good.
After grabbing what I needed, I tossed the rest into the trash when my phone buzzed with a text from Donovan.
I'm at the library. Don’t forget to bring the notes.
When I arrived, Donovan was in a discreet corner blending in with the hustle. Sitting across from him, I handed over the portable hard drive.
“It’s all there. Credit card numbers, expiration dates, and CVVs.”
Donovan hooked it up to his laptop and quickly scanned the files.
His fingers moved over the screen with practiced ease, eyes narrowed in focus. “Goddamn. You killed ‘em on this haul. That dress must’ve put a hurtin’ on ‘em.”
My ego couldn’t register Donovan’s compliment. It was still bruised from how the night ended, but he was too busy working his magic to notice.
“It’s all set. Transfers are lined up, and the bitcoin is secure.”
I reached for his laptop, giving it a second look before hitting the magic button. Each column housed a transfer small enough to be mistaken for a weekly shopping trip, but large enough to cover my expenses and put away money for medical school.
“Take this one off.”
“Treason Westbrook?” He looked over, waiting for an explanation.
“I don’t want to end up in jail. Do you?” I snapped, returning the laptop to him.
Donovan’s face grew serious. “It’s done.”
We’d done this dance too often for Donovan to question me now. He was a contractor, hired to do a job, but I ran the show.
“I have my cut and split yours between two accounts. Pleasure doing business, as always.”
Usually, the rush was undeniable, but stepping onto the busy street, I felt nothing.
So I went home and got dolled up because I always felt better when I looked better.
My usually sleek hair was styled in curls and pinned up to accentuate my face.
None of it fixed that nagging feeling in my stomach.
The drinks and expensive meal helped, but Sloane always said the best way to get over one man was to get a new one.
Scanning the restaurant for distractions, Rayven’s name appeared on my screen.
“Hey! Are you okay?” I rushed to answer.
“Yeah,” Rayven giggled. “I’m fine. Relax.”
“You scared me.”
“By calling?”
“Yes, because you should be studying. Not calling me.”
“I took a break to say thank you.” Rayven’s words lingered the way they always did when she held back.
“What is it?”
“I miss you. When are you coming to visit?”
“Soon, Squirt. I’ve just been busy.”
“Saving for med school.”
“No, just busy,” I lied, and ironically, I thought about Treason. I could feel his brown eyes scolding me for not being honest.
Rayven smacked her lips, asking, “Doing what?”
“Stuff,” I replied, gulping the rest of my drink. “How’s college life treating you?”
“It’s fun. A lot of work, but fun.”
“Hmm, meet any cute boys?”
“No,” she rushed out before admitting the truth, “A few, but it’s nothing serious.”
“It’s okay to like boys, Rayven.”
“You don’t.”
“That’s my choice. Your choices are yours. Always remember that.”
“I know,” she sighed, tired of me beating it into her brain over the years, but someone had to.
“Good, I’ll call you later. I have to wrap up something.”
“I love you, Vie. Be safe.”
“I love you, Ray. Now get back to studying so I can brag about my baby sister being an amazing Neurosurgeon.”
“Bye!”
Scoping the restaurant grew so dull that I went home. Fresh out of the shower, I grabbed my laptop and typed Treason’s name into the search bar. He wasn’t lying about needing help. His opponents were doing a damn good job planting seeds of doubt,
The data suggested that Treason was respected, but not necessarily liked, which affected his credibility.
“Hmm, I can understand that,” I scoffed. His policy knowledge and passion were undeniable, but he lacked warmth and relatability.
Sadly, Treason seemed like the best man for the job.
Victor was a puppet for a much bigger machine, but he wasn’t invincible.
In fact, I had five solutions alone that didn’t involve me being Treason’s wife or girlfriend.
Had he not ruined the night, I might’ve given him some tips, but a man as resourceful as Treason would find another way. I was almost sure of it.