This shit ain’t adding up.
The descriptions were vague, and the companies listed weren’t ones I remembered approving. No contact names. Just logos and payment addresses.
Media Works?
Oceanpark Inc?
Lighthouse Studio?
Miama Skills Corporation?
What the fuck are these?
I searched each logo name. Nothing. No online presence. No history. Nonexistent.
Everything came through me for approval. None of these rang a bell.
I wrote down the inconsistencies, pressing hard enough that the fountain pen almost tore the paper. I took photos of the screen, then I printed the reports.
By the time I stood up, my chest felt tight, and my patience was gone.
Before I did anything reckless, I decided I’d interrogate every muthafucka involved in financial oversight.
Someone had some explaining to do.
CHAPTER 7
REASON
Ihad my team, which included dozens of people, packed into my conference room on the thirty-seventh floor for an emergency meeting. I had presentation folders made and placed in front of each of them. Before speaking, I looked around at every face, trying to figure out why any of them would think it was a good idea to steal from me.
Most of them, if not all, were making six figures, and that didn’t include the gifts I occasionally gave. Even when someone was falling on hard times and I caught wind of it, I went out of my way to give them a little extra to handle whatever they needed.
I went by the motto, “Take care of yo’ people, and in return they’ll take care of you.”
In this moment, that statement was the farthest from the truth. I could not speak for everyone in the room, but somebody had crossed the fuckin’ line, and I knew exactly who it was.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what’s in these folders.” I ignored the pain in my jaw from my clenched teeth. “Patience is key. You’ll find out soon enough.”
I glanced at the four bodyguards posted in each corner of the room. Stone-faced and ready to fuck some shit up if I gave them a signal.
My employees shifted in their plush office chairs every so often. Their eyes darted to their laps, to their hands, to the black folders, and then around at each other. They looked everywhere but at me. Seeing how uncomfortable they were gave me temporary satisfaction.
Crazy how people can be bold enough to cross you, but when they are caught, that same braveness they once had suddenly vanishes. I hated a thieving ass nigga or bitch. One of the first things I learned at an early age was to never take shit that did not belong to me. It was not about the money whatsoever. It was the principle. You never steal from someone who kept you and your family fed. In my eyes, that was the ultimate betrayal among a long list of other things.
I wanted to lash out.
I wanted to press muthafuckas.
I wanted to crack skulls.
But I had to move strategically. Too many people were watching. I debated whether to corner who I knew was responsible, but that would have been too easy. I had a point to prove. The culprit would get handled, but first, I had to ensure no one else was bold enough to try me.
A man like me had a heart. I figured they must have viewed me as being a pussy.
“Go ahead and open your folders and review the contents,” I demanded.
Fidgety hands struggled to flip the cover open. The first page was a list of the fake ass companies that I’d discovered.
