Page 130
“Yes, Grif is outside the door.”
“I ain’t worried ‘bout no Grif.”
“Good. Then look at me.” He looked at me. “I know D12 had money tied to King distribution. I know Weston Reed was involved. I know Rah was trying to restructure and pull pieces apart before he died. I know one of the SUVs sitting on the road before my husband was murdered was tied to a fleet account D12 helped fund.”
Q sat still, so I continued.
“And I talked to somebody who was working the compound that night. Those SUVs weren’t passing by. They were sitting there waiting. Now I’m going to ask you one time. Why was a vehicle connected to you sitting on the road waiting on my husband?”
Q leaned forward slowly and folded his hand tighter. “You already made your mind up.”
“No, if I had made up my mind, we wouldn’t be talking.”
“You don’t know what Rah was doing.”
He was right. I didn’t have a clue what the fuck he was doing, but that wasn’t the point.
“Enlighten me. What was my husband doing?”
“He was about to blow up a lot of shit. Everybody’s money was about to get fucked up.”
“Yours mattered more, I’m guessing.”
“You muthafuckin’ right.”
At least he was being honest.
“Rah wanted out. Not just out for himself either. He wanted to start pulling pieces apart, shutting routes down, cleaning shit up. That sounds real noble when you’re sitting outside of it. Inside of it? Niggas had millions tied into that structure. Men had families eating off that shit.”
“So, Rah was supposed to stay because everybody else was comfortable?”
“That ain’t what I said.”
“Rah wasn’t asking permission. That was the problem. He was making decisions that affected everybody tied to it and acting like being a King meant he could do that shit alone.”
“He could do whatever he wanted to with his part.”
“It stopped being just his part years ago.”
“So, y’all killed my husband over money.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“My husband drove home that night thinking he was safe.”
“That nigga knew he wasn’t safe,” Q said.
“What?”
“Rah knew shit was getting bad. Blood was the only way out of that shit.”
My fingers curled against the edge of the table.
“Did he know you were involved?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you involved?” I glared at him.
