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“Remember we said we would hold on to them just in case we needed them in the future,” Countee added.
“So it was a no-go on sending them to her home and work email addresses?”
“Right,” Countee said.
“What about the physical copies that were supposed to be delivered to her and the partners by messenger?” Laila asked.
“We vetoed that too,” Samuel said.
Laila looked deep in thought for several seconds before she threw up her hands and said, “Oops, my bad. We must have discussed that when I ran to the bathroom. Someone should have told me,” she shrugged.
“You sent them?”
“Yeah about thirty minutes ago,” Laila added.
Samuel
“Thankyou all for meeting with me on such short notice. The reason why I started this investment group is because black people have not attained generational wealth yet. We are so far behind white people when it comes to finances and us as a people don’t even realize how far behind we are.”
I sat at a table with all the men in my investment group; the Bluettes, the Chambers, Xavier and Roc. I’d called an impromptu meeting because I had some important information to share with them.
“I read that the average middle-class income for a white family is one hundred and seventy thousand dollars a year. The average middle-class income for a black family is seventeen thousand a year. We average ten percent of what they do…ten percent. Most of us didn’t even learn about credit until we were adults and had already messed it up. I want this group to change that. I want all of our children and grandchildren to know wealth. I want them to understand credit and then have enough to pass on to their children. It’s going to take us working together as a team to accomplish that. I can’t do it on my own. This group is important to me. I want to break barriers and take some things back that should be ours anyway. However, recently my wife’s legacy had been threatened by someone. This person created a mess financially, and I stepped in to bail my wife out. It was the right decision and a no-brainer, but that move has tied up my finances, so I’m not good right now for my portion of the investment into the team. Not that I won’t ever be, but in the next year or so, I will not be able to cover it. That doesn’t mean that we are going anywhere it just means that our timeline will shift some. That team will be ours, but unless something happens to change things, it won’t happen this year.”
“We are all aware of the situation, and we all agree that you made the right decision,” Paxton said.
“I speak for the group when I say that we don’t mind waiting because this venture is worth the wait,” Countee added.
“It’s all about timing,” Roman started, “As long as we are moving in God’s timing, all of this will come together. I have a strong sense in my spirit that this is merely a short pause so don’t get too comfortable with waiting because we won’t be waiting very long.”
* * *
Rocand I stood outside the gates of the Missouri prison waiting for our father to be released. After years of appeals, letter writing, and planning, he was about to be a free man. I remembered going through all the steps with the guards preparing for my release. I remembered the feelings of anxiety and excitement. Anxiety came from not really believing that something good was going to happen for me. After living behind bars in a perpetual state of hopelessness, it was hard to look forward to anything. It was hard to believe that circumstances would change. So, I watched carefully as the guards pointed to the places I needed to sign on my release paperwork. I listened and followed everything they told me to do because I didn’t want to give them any reason to keep me one second longer. I was sure my father was feeling that same way.
The doors of the prison intake center opened and my father walked out. His stride was wide, his head was high, and a large smile spread across his face. Roc and I stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for him to make it to us. The pride that I felt seeing the sun hit his face on the other side of the prison walls was overwhelming. He reached us and put his arms around both of us at the same time. He stepped back and grabbed my face with his hands and rested his forehead against mine. He released me and did the same thing to Roc.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said while pointing in the direction of Roc’s truck.
Samuel
My father, Roc and I walked through the doors of an old warehouse on the south side of town near the river. I’d received a call from Countee informing me that I had a package waiting there for me. Countee met us at the door and directed us to one of the rooms in the back. Upon walking through the door, I saw Elson, the man who shot me, tied to a beam in the ceiling with his hands above him. He didn’t seem to be hurt aside from a bruise on his cheek.
“What happened to him?” I asked Countee.
“He uh, tripped and fell,” Countee answered.
I had requested that he be alive. I guess I didn’t give specific instructions not to hurt him.
“Where is the driver?” I asked.
“Dead,” Countee responded.
I raised my eyebrow and looked at Countee.
“What? I didn’t do it. He did,” he motioned toward Elson. “He had the body in the house where we found him,” Countee explained.
“Look at this gay ass shit!” Elson said looking from me to my father. “I knew you was a bitch!”
“What you should’ve known is that I was invincible and was going to find you,” I replied.
