“Whatever. But nah, this can’t be the same girl.”
“And how are you so sure she’s not? Nigga, yo’ ass was sloppy drunk that night. You came out of that bathroom with yo’ shirt halfway tucked in talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Don’t judge me, I’m grown.’”
“We also agreed we’d never speak on that night again,” I groaned.
“Yeah,” Knox laughed, “but that wasbeforewe discovered yo’ mystery bathroom hookup might be carrying yo’ damn baby.”
I rubbed my jaw hard. “This some sick universe type shit.”
“I could still be wrong,” Knox admitted with a shrug. “But cameras don’t lie. We can find out.”
We stepped away from the bar and headed toward the back corridor leading to the surveillance offices upstairs. The music gradually faded the deeper we moved into the restricted part of the club.
Knox walked beside me with his drink still in hand. “Boy, if this really the same girl—”
I shot him a look, cutting him off. “I need you on my side, so think positive right now.”
“Nigga, I got yo’ back, yo’ secrets, yo’ alibis, and probably a few crimes attached to yo’ name,” Knox said with a laugh. “I’m just saying… yo’ life currently got all the ingredients of a family scandal, a hood romance, and rich-nigga problems. Somewhere out there, a television producer just got chills and don’t even know why.”
I stopped walking once we reached the office door. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I pushed the door open without bothering to knock.
Marcel, who was head of head of security and surveillance for the club, looked up immediately from the wall of security monitors, fingers still moving across the keyboard while camera feeds flickered across the screens behind him.
“What’s good, boss?” he greeted quickly, sitting up straighter. “What can I help y’all with?”
“I need footage from a night about…” I rubbed my jaw, trying to think. “It was… damn.”
I looked toward Knox.
“When the hell was that?”
“Hell nah!” Knox said, shaking his head. “You not finna act like that night wasn’t memorable.”
I chuckled. “Nigga, hush all that and answer the damn question.”
“Aight, let’s see.” He squinted while thinking. “Oh, shit. The next day was Lala’s birthday dinner.”
Lala was his younger sister.
I frowned. “So that was about what? Ten months ago?”
Knox stared at me in disbelief. “Nigga… her birthday is in September… it’s November now.” He emphasized his point by dramatically pointing a finger at me. “Which means that shit happened a year ago.”
I blinked slowly. “Damn. It’s really been a whole year?”
“Hell yeah,” Knox confirmed with a nod.
“When’s Lala’s birthday again?” I asked.
“September 20th,” he replied, recalling it effortlessly.
My attention shifted to Marcel, who had been quietly observing our banter. “Pull footage from September 19th… around late night,” I instructed him firmly.
Marcel nodded immediately, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he navigated through the security system. The monitors around us lit up with evolving images, quickly cycling through archived files as he searched for the night I needed.
A few minutes later, the footage finally loaded onto the screen. It was a bit grainy, but clear enough.
