Pride, p.22
Pride, page 22
Ethan said, “Sweetheart, the mayor has just arrived.”
“Oh, okay,” Ivy said. “It was nice meeting you, Quincy, and Journee, I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
We watched the two saunter away, and then Quincy asked, “Was it something I said?” He chuckled. “They ran off like they had a real appointment with the mayor.”
We laughed together, but I added, “Who knows? They may, because Ivy’s dad is Pastor Jamal Franklin.”
“Oh, wow, of Wheeler Village?”
“Yup. So she’s a VIP, at least in her mind.”
Then another voice invaded our laughter. “Well, if it isn’t my protégée.”
I groaned. I’d been in this place for only about fifteen minutes, yet I’d received another text, had to face Ethan and Poison Ivy, and now this. Vivian looked great, though, like she always did. Her red sequined gown looked as if it had been painted on her tiny waist, which was in perfect proportion to her ample hips. But that wasn’t the most interesting part of her dress. It was cut so low, her belly button peeked out. She’d definitely used yards of tape to keep everything in place.
“Vivian,” I said before I turned back to Quincy as if she weren’t there.
Without missing a beat, she circled the table, placed her Chanel clutch down, and picked up the conversation as if I hadn’t just dissed her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me,” she said.
Now she had my attention. “Excuse me?”
“Well”—she flung her blond weave over her shoulder—“first you show up at my house, and now you’re here.” She chuckled as if she’d told a joke, then turned to Quincy. She held out her hand. “And you are?”
“My man,” I answered before Quincy could.
She dropped her hand to her side. “That’s your name?” she asked, her eyes still on him.
Again I gave my man no room to speak. “That’s all you need to know.”
“My goodness,” Vivian said to Quincy, “are you allowed to speak?”
Quincy chuckled. “I am, but it seems my lady has given you all the relevant information.”
“Well, anyway”—she swiveled and faced me again—“I need to speak with you for a moment.”
“Go ahead.”
She glanced up at Quincy. “Privately.”
“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Quincy.”
The way her eyebrows rose, I thought she was going to say something about Quincy’s name. But instead, she said, “I don’t think you want to talk about this in front of him.”
“He’s my man, Vivian. He knows everything.”
She leaned back a little in surprise. “Well”—her eyes roamed up, then down Quincy before she turned back to me—“you may feel comfortable speaking in front of him, but I don’t. I don’t know him like that. And obviously, I don’t know you anymore either.”
Quincy looked straight at me. “You know what? I see the mayor over there.” We both laughed, leaving Vivian glancing between us in confusion. “I’ll give you two a little privacy.”
He kissed my cheek before he strolled away, and Vivian and I watched him until he stopped at the bar. With her eyes still on him, she said, “I see a few things have changed.”
Facing her, I asked, “Why did you want to speak to me?”
“First, can I give you a little bit of advice?” My stare was meant to dissuade her, but she continued, “I don’t know how much you’ve shared with Quincy, but that’s not your brightest move.”
“What I tell or do with my man is none of your business, and I feel sorry for you if you’ve never had a relationship where you wanted to share every part of your life with your partner.”
She shrugged, then leaned in. “I don’t think you’ll want to share this—have you been contacted by the FBI?”
It was because I was so shocked by her question that I responded without taking a moment to think of the best answer. “No! Have you?”
She shook her head. “But I saw an article a while back—”
“In the Defender.”
She nodded. “You saw it, huh? After I read that, I expected to have someone beating down my door the next morning.”
“I thought you weren’t worried about getting caught up in this with your uncle.”
“I’m not,” she said with a shrug, “but it seems that this is far beyond my uncle Simon. That article read like everyone in real estate in Houston was being investigated.”
I nodded. That was true. “At this point, your uncle definitely has more information than we do. I’m sure the feds had to disclose something when they arrested Simon. And a lot of information is always in an indictment.”
“Sounds like you’re an expert at being arrested.” She smirked.
I could easily go back and forth with Vivian, but what would being petty accomplish right now? What I needed was information, so I said, “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t reached out to him.”
“I haven’t spoken to my uncle in over three years. Not since he called me, so distraught about that woman the two of you killed.”
So that’s how she found out.
“But you may be right. He would have to know far more about this investigation than we do.”
“Are you going to call him?”
“It would be a fool’s move to do that. You think I want my number to show up in his phone records as if we have a continuing relationship? No, ma’am.”
Dang! That was a coldhearted way to treat a relative, but I wished I’d thought of that. The feds probably had a record of my calling Simon. And with the timing of when I called him—not a good move.
I asked, “So what do you think is going to happen?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.” Then she held out her hand to me. “We may not like each other, but it would be in our best interests to work together and make a deal.”
I eyed her hand. “What kind of deal?”
“If either of us is taken in for questioning… or worse, let’s agree here and now that we won’t go after the other. I won’t mention your name. And you do the same for me, no matter what kind of deal we’re offered.”
This time when I glanced down at her hand, I noticed her bracelet, a striking gold piece that encircled her arm. But then I peeped the tip—the head of a snake.
This was so apropos for this moment. A snake wearing a snake… saying she wanted to shake on this. Still, I gripped her hand, deciding to take the small chance she would keep her word.
But when she grinned, grabbed her purse, and slithered away, I glanced down at my hand to make sure all my fingers were there. As I watched Vivian, in the brightest red gown, slip and slide through the room, my stomach twisted, turned, and tumbled. What kind of deal had I just made with that devil?
24
Every time one of my clients cried, I cried, too. I cried because I’d helped someone achieve their dream, but so many of my tears were still for Mrs. Landers. That was why I was sitting here now with Mrs. Barker and both of us were dabbing at our eyes.
“So is that it?” Mrs. Barker sniffed.
I scanned through the papers she’d just signed. “Yes. You’re all set and now the owner of a brand-new home. Well, maybe not completely new, since you’ve lived there.”
“What are you talking about?” the seventy-year-old woman said. “Now that I own it, it’s a brand-new home to me!”
We laughed as we stood and I hugged her. It had been quite an effort to find a lender for Mrs. Barker. Although financial institutions were not supposed to discriminate based on age, many did. Once I found a lender, that financial institution had made me jump backward through hoops, making sure Mrs. Barker’s paperwork was in order. I understood the caution—there were a lot of real estate scammers out there.
But I was no longer one of them, and Mrs. Barker’s package wasn’t just impeccable; it was honest. The down payment had been gifted by her son, she’d make the small monthly payments from a percentage of her social security check, and the rest would come from a grant program I’d found for people like her. It had been a lot of work, but I welcomed it.
While so many of the houses I sold were considered luxury, I devoted a good deal of my time to helping low-income families find the answer to their prayers. This was what I hoped my legacy would be.
I handed Mrs. Barker the envelope with her papers. Her weathered hands shook before she raised them in the air. “Hallelujah,” she shouted. “You just don’t know my story.” Then, looking to the heavens again, she added, “And thank you for sending me to Journee Alexander, Lord. She’s one of your angels here on earth.”
I cringed a bit, thinking I needed a few more clients like Mrs. Barker before God could consider my heavenly ledger clear enough to be counted an angel. But I was working on it.
If Mrs. Barker had gone on for even a minute longer, I would have been all caught up in her praise. But she gave me a final hug and squeeze, then marched out of my office to return to the house she’d been renting, which was now the home she owned.
Returning to my desk, I was on to my next project—a presentation I had tomorrow with Tillman Taylor, the owner of one of the largest real estate firms in Houston. His company wanted to streamline their process, and he was seeking a broker as a permanent partner.
This wouldn’t be as huge as the WestPark revitalization deal, but it would be quite a substantial addition to my business. Tasha and I had worked on this PowerPoint presentation, and even though I knew it was tight, I’d reviewed it every day for the past week. I wanted to commit it to my memory so that as I spoke, I could watch Mr. Taylor and his team while they were looking at the slides.
But as soon as I turned on my computer and opened the folder, my mind wandered. All of this drama in my life just wouldn’t let me be great.
Since the gala at Hotel ICON, it had been difficult to keep my thoughts away from that deal I’d made with that devil.
And then there were more texts.
In the past three days, I’d received three more, although it was the one from this morning that was the most troubling. I picked up my phone and read the message once again:
If somehow you escape God’s wrath, don’t think it’s over. You will never break free of mine. No matter how long it takes, the hate in my heart won’t let me stop until your downfall is complete. Vengeance is mine.
These texts had moved from being annoying to being troubling, and now they were frightening. Someone out there hated me, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or just part of the game. It wasn’t Simon; it wasn’t Vivian. Could it be Ivy? Could she be feeding the feds information while pretending to work for me? Could it be one of my brokers, or even Tasha? Or one of my competitors? Or someone I didn’t know at all?
There were too many names, too many options.
I copied the text and pasted it into a message to Ethan, but then I paused. Suppose this text did come from Ivy. I deleted the message and then glanced up.
The sight of Tasha standing in my office, stiff and wide-eyed, stopped me cold. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I need to turn on your television.” She moved so fast, grabbing the remote and turning it toward the mounted TV across the room, that I didn’t even have time to do more than stand up and say:
“What’s going—”
The picture filled the screen. Vivian scampering out of the downtown FBI headquarters.
“Authorities say Vivian Wallace is a cooperating witness in the multimillion-dollar real estate fraud case that is extending throughout the city,” the anchor said.
I stood with my hand covering my mouth as Vivian crossed the screen, shielding her face with her hands from the camera as a burly Black dude guided her to a waiting SUV. Cameras flashed all around her, but she never looked up, never stopped, and finally disappeared behind the SUV’s tinted windows.
I sank back into my seat. The anchors continued, but even though my eyes were pinned to the screen, I could hardly hear their words for all the thoughts screaming in my mind. Vivian was cooperating with the FBI? So, had the gala been a setup? Had she been trying to get me to confess to something, or was this cooperation a new development that had happened in the past three days?
The news anchor cut to another story—an accident on the 610 Loop—and Tasha clicked off the TV.
It took me a few moments to speak, but finally I asked, “Did you see the beginning of the report?”
She nodded. “I happened to see it start when I was passing in the reception area. When I got the gist of what was happening, I came in here to tell you.” She took a breath. “She was arrested this morning—”
Arrested?
“—and it seems it’s in connection with her uncle. What I can’t figure out is her bond was a million dollars and she’s out already.”
My jaw dropped. Arrested, and a million-dollar bond?
Tasha continued, “I’m just trying to figure out what she did to warrant such high bail,” asking the question that was in my mind. “My God, that’s the level for murderers.”
Tasha had joined me two months after I opened my firm. Because we’d been up against Vivian a few times for municipal and private contracts, I’d shared with her that Vivian and I had been childhood friends who had turned into fierce competitors.
“I… I don’t think Vivian’s a murderer,” I said, and then my mind finished that thought: But would anyone ever consider me one?
My stomach rumbled like a volcano. It was only a matter of time before the feds came for me.
“Whatever she’s done,” Tasha said, “she must have cut some kind of good deal, because I have no idea how else she would have been released so quickly.”
“Vivian is going to protect Vivian at all costs,” I said more to myself than to Tasha.
“As horrible as this is, do you know what I was thinking?” It was clearly a rhetorical question, since Tasha didn’t even take a breath before she added, “We may get that WestPark contract, because there’s no way the city’s going to fool with her now.”
I was so startled when my cell rang that I knocked it off my desk. I snatched it up, glanced at the screen. “Ethan!”
“I just saw the news report, and from your tone, I guess you saw it, too.”
“Have you heard anything? Are they coming for me?” I glanced up, and Tasha was standing in my doorway, staring at me. I was shocked to see her, but… she didn’t seem… shocked by my words. Before I could say anything to her, she turned around and disappeared.
I jumped up and closed the door and at the same time lowered my voice. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t have any more information beyond what was on the news. We’d been in touch with Ivy’s contacts, but suddenly they’ve dried up.”
“Why?”
“We’re trying to find out everything we can,” Ethan said. “Ivy’s working the phones now.”
Ivy working brought me no comfort. Had her contacts really dried up? Or was that just what she told Ethan? “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait until they come for me?”
“That’s all you can do. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Just stay calm and lie low.” When he ended the call, I stared at my phone. Was this really his advice? The same advice that he’d been giving me for all of these weeks? And look where I was now.
I needed to do more. I needed to speak to Quincy.
25
When I’d called Quincy yesterday, he’d rushed straight to my place, then listened as I cried, telling him everything about Vivian’s arrest. His advice had been the same as Ethan’s—to lie low, do nothing. He was as wrong as Ethan, but when I sat back and tried to figure out what to do, I came up with nothing as well.
So I sucked it up and came to work this morning, prepared to wow Tillman Taylor, and it looked like I’d accomplished that goal. Fifteen minutes ago, I finished the PowerPoint presentation to Mr. Taylor and his staff, and since then, they’d fired questions at me. I answered every one, not fazed by any of their inquiries. J. Alexander and Associates would be able to handle the individual financing for each of Mr. Tillman’s projects.
As I answered the questions, I watched the executives exchange glances, nod, and smile. All the men were engaged and impressed. But then there was one woman.
Mrs. Washington had been introduced as the PR director for Mr. Taylor’s real estate firm, and while the others responded to my presentation, her expression—eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, jaw tight—never changed. I tried to draw her to my side by making eye contact, nodding in her direction. But nothing worked, so after the first thirty minutes, I shrugged and turned my focus to the men.
“Impressive, Miss Alexander,” Mr. Taylor said as he reviewed the packet of information. “And the way you’ve explained your growth strategy, this will be quite lucrative… for both of our companies.”
“Yes, Mr. Taylor. That was important for me to make sure this was a win-win for everyone.”
“You’ve accomplished that,” he said, then turned to his team. “Are there any other questions?”
“Ms. Alexander”—Mrs. Washington raised her finger—“I do have a question. It has come to my attention that you and your company—”
My heart flipped and flipped and flipped.
“—are under investigation. What can you tell us about this situation? Because I’m sure you’ll understand why I was hesitant to even take this meeting. Will J. Alexander and Associates even be in business a week from now?” She glanced at her coworkers, and they nodded along with her.
My lips wouldn’t part. All I did was stare at her as I tried to organize a single thought, some kind of appropriate response that Mrs. Washington would believe.
