Page 36 of 4 Corinthians

“I don’t give a fuck about your plan!” Uncle Bradon yelled. “I give a fuck about this company, about what it will be when it’s time for us to step down and hand it over to our kids. Fucking around with you and Logan, it won't be shit but a shell of a possibility.”

“My insurance check will be cashed in soon,” Robert said, shaking his head. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve done it before.”

Uncle Bradon’s face twisted in confusion. “When?”

“Twelve years ago,” he answered with a chuckle. “I cashed in on an insurance plan, and you never knew. Which means I know what I’m doing and everything will be covered. Just watch.”

“I’m not watching shit,” Uncle Bradon said as he stood. “I’m having all the finance reports pulled.”

“For what exactly?”

“To see what your dumb ass has been doing since I was stupid enough to think you had some sense and could successfully run a business,” Uncle Bradon told him. “Now let’s go eat; your wife has been standing in the hallway for the last few minutes waiting for us.” He rounded the desk, put his hand out for Breighton to take, then walked out of the office.

Robert got up but didn’t leave his office. Instead, he went around the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

“Logan, we have a problem,” he said, watching me. “No, Bradon is pulling the finance reports.” He paused and nodded. “He doesn’t know the full extent of everything, but he will soon. I need to cash in on that plan sooner rather than later. Call Jonathan and let him know we are moving forward with getting the girls. We don’t have time to waste.”

Corinthians

“Let’s go, Mercy!” Madea yelled as she jumped from her seat. “Shoot the ball, baby!”

Mercy shot the ball, making it, and Madea and Granddaddy cheered. Her daddy sat at the bottom of the stands, barely able to keep from yelling. Every time Mercy got the ball, he was telling her what to do, where to shoot from, or clapping. He loved watching her play basketball, and Mercy was good at it. She was one of the few girls on the team who looked like they wanted to be there.

“What’s wrong with you?” Exodus asked. He was originally sitting next to Krude, but kept getting in trouble, so Madea made him sit next to Psalms and me.

“Nothing,” I answered, watching Mercy. Her coach pulled her and her teammate, Vine, aside while the other team was shooting free throws. Vine was good, too.

“Nah, you've been quiet,” Exodus said, shaking his head. He leaned back on the stands and crossed his arms. “What's up? Talk to me.”

“I’m just tired,” I told him.

“You been boxing a lot lately?” he asked, and I nodded. “I heard yo daddy telling Uncle Mathew that Cross was going to be training like you do soon. I asked Madea about me joining, and she said she would talk to Uncle Ruben about it first and get all the information.”

“You don’t want to box,” I said, shaking my head. I looked down at my parents. They were the farthest away, talking to each other. It looked like they were in a serious conversation. Every once in a while, Daddy would shake his head or wipe his hands down his face, and Mama would look over at us. She looked sad, while Daddy was annoyed. “Trust me, you don’t want to.”

“Nah, I think I do,” Exodus replied. “Madea said I can't play football like I want, and I need to hit something.”

“Play hockey,” I suggested.

“Black people don’t play hockey,” he denied with a laugh.

“The rec center has a hockey team,” I reminded him. “And everybody in there is black.”

“I pass,” he laughed. “I think I’ll do boxing with you and Cross.”

The buzzer sounded, and we stood. Mercy’s team lost, but the game was close. We walked down the stands and to the door where we always waited for her. Madea and Granddaddy had already planned to take us to their house for the night. Our parents were going out for a big group date. They hadn’t been on one in a while.

“There goes my basketball star!” Granddaddy said when Mercy came out of the locker room. Granddaddy knelt and took her flip-flops from the bag he was carrying. Mercy took off her basketball shoes, handed them to him, then put on the flip-flops. “You did good, kiddo.”

“Coach said I need to work on my defense,” she said, shaking her head. She looked over at her daddy, who was watching her closely. His arms were folded, and he looked upset.

“He’s right,” her daddy agreed. “You let the same girl get past you three times. That girl ain’t better than you; she just saw you were being lazy, and her coach used it against you. I would’ve pulled you the first time she got past you.”

“Let that girl be,” Granddaddy said, standing. He waved him off and pulled Mercy into a hug. “You did good, granddaughter. Trust me when I say it because I ain’t ever lied to you before and won't start now.”

“She can do better and will,” her daddy replied. “Mercy, tomorrow we will run some drills.”

“Nah, tomorrow she is relaxing and being a damn kid,” Granddaddy told him. He looked at Mercy’s daddy like he was mad, and for a second, I wondered if he was. He and Madea had barely said anything to any of their kids since they got here. They spoke to us, gave us hugs and kisses, but that was it.