My phone rang. Farah.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Her voice was sharp. Annoyed. “The painters are at your penthouse right now. The furniture delivery is in thirty minutes. You said you’d be there.”
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“My bad. I got caught up.”
“It’s fine, I can handle it if you give me your code. I’ll make sure everything’s done right.”
“Aight. Code is 0-3-1-5-8-7.”
“Got it.” A pause. “Hey, um, I was thinking… maybe we could grab dinner sometime this week?”
“Um,no. I’m busy this week, Farah.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice deflated slightly. “Well, maybe next week then?”
“Nah.”
“Well, will I see you at the gala?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“I can’t wait. I’ll text you when the painters are done.”
“Cool.”
I hung up.
Didn’t think twice about it. Farah was always like that—trying to find reasons to spend time with me, suggesting dinners, wanting to “catch up.” I never encouraged it. She was Rashid’s daughter. That was it.
I had more important shit to worry about.
My phone rang again. This time, a number I recognized immediately.
Rashid.
“Brother Rashid,” I answered.
“Prentice.” His voice was calm. Steady. Like always. “How you doing, son?”
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know I’ll be back in DC next week. Meech’s parole hearing is coming up. Thought I’d come support him. See how things turn out.”
My grip tightened on the phone. Meech’s hearing. Which meant Zahara would be stressed again.
“You think he’s got a shot at parole?”
“Hard to say. He’s done his time. Been a model prisoner. But it’s his third strike, so…” Rashid trailed off. “We’ll see. Either way, I’ll be there. And I’m looking forward to seeing you while I’m in town. Catch up.”
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
“You sound distracted. Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Just handling some things.”
