Page 59 of Omar

"Worth following up." Stone set the document down. "Probably nothing, but you never know. These infrastructure networks have a way of recycling names and dates. Still, worth a look."

He said it casually. Thorough. Professional. Kadeem nodded and moved on to logistics.

I let it pass. Stone had just mentioned the same date Devon had flagged. He'd brought it up himself, unprompted, and suggested it was probably nothing. Just old infrastructure being recycled.

I filed it.

Kadeem and I wrapped up the logistics. Stone offered to stay and start the cross-reference work tonight but Kadeem told him to go home, rest, start fresh tomorrow. Stone put his hand on Kadeem's shoulder on the way out, said something about how proud he was of how Kadeem handled things. Kadeem thanked him. It was genuine on both sides.

I walked out after Stone. He was standing by his car, keys in hand.

"Heavy day," he said.

"Yeah."

"Your father's name keeps coming up in these documents, Omar. I know that's not easy."

"It's just data," I said. "Devon follows the evidence. We see where it goes."

Stone nodded. "If you need to talk about it. About any of it. You know where I am."

"Appreciate that."

He got in his car and drove off. I stood in the driveway for a minute, then got in mine.

On the drive home I thought about Asha. She was sitting inside Supreme's operation every day, living with the man who'd been funding attacks on my family's territory for three years. Eating his food, sleeping in his bed, performing for him while he ran a shadow operation that connected to my father's disappearance through a shell company signed by a man named Leonard Pryce.

She was sitting on top of everything we needed. Account numbers, names, routines, schedules. Three years of proximity to Supreme's inner workings.

She didn't know any of this yet. She didn't know that the man she was trapped with wasn't just dangerous to her. He was connected to everything we'd been fighting, everything we'd been losing, and maybe to the reason my father never came home.

My hands tightened on the wheel.

I was going to get her out. But first I needed to understand what she was sitting on.

And I needed to find out who Leonard Pryce was.

Chapter 23

Omar

The call came in just after eleven. Rashid's number on the screen, which was unusual because Rashid texted. He didn't call unless something was wrong.

"Yo." His voice was tight, clipped. "I need you to come get me."

"Where are you?"

"That bar on Franklin. The one above the chicken spot."

"You okay?"

"Just get here, O. Quick."

I was in my car in under a minute. Franklin Avenue was a ten-minute drive from my apartment if you caught the lights. I caught them all and made it in seven.

The bar was upstairs from a fried chicken place that served until two in the morning. I took the stairs two at a time. The door at the top was propped open. A narrow room with a bar along one wall, booths along the other, a jukebox in the corner playing something nobody was listening to. Four or five people scattered around, most of them at the bar, none of them looking at each other.

Rashid was in the last booth near the bathrooms. He was sitting with his back to the wall, a napkin pressed against his lower lip, his knuckles raw on his right hand. A glass of something dark was on the table in front of him, mostly full.