It was smaller than I expected. Institutional. A long table at the front where the parole board would sit. Chairs arranged in rows for witnesses and family. A separate area for the inmate.
And standing near the front, waiting for us, was Rashid.
He looked good. Distinguished. Gray suit, perfectly pressed. Salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neat. The kind of presence that commanded respect without demanding it.
“Prime.” He pulled me into a hug, clapping my back. “Thank you for coming, son. This means everything.”
“I keep my word.”
“I know you do.” He released me and turned to Zahara, his expression softening. “And you must be Zahara. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Zahara’s face did something complicated. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nice to meet you.”
“I apologize we haven’t met before now.” Rashid took her hand in both of his. “I’ve been traveling a lot. Business overseas. But that’s no excuse. You’re important to Meech, which means you’re important to me.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Rashid turned to Yusef, and his whole demeanor shifted. Warmer. More open.
“And you must be Yusef.” He extended his hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now. I hear you’re quite the piano player.”
Yusef shook his hand, looking uncertain. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m your uncle.” Rashid smiled. “Your father is my nephew so that makes you my nephew too.”
Something flickered in Yusef’s eyes. Hope, maybe. The desperate kind that kids get when they’ve been let down too many times but still want to believe.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated. “It’s good to meet you.”
Rashid squeezed his shoulder. “Good man.”
Then the side door opened.
And Meech walked in.
He looked the same as before. Wiry. Hard. That jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw.
His eyes found Rashid first. A nod of respect.
Then me. His jaw tightened.
Then Yusef. A flicker of something.
And then he saw Zahara.
He stopped cold.
The guards had to nudge him forward, but his eyes never left her face. His brow furrowed. Deep. Confused.
He sat down in his designated spot, but he kept turning around. Staring at her. His head tilting like he was trying to figure something out.
Throughout the entire hearing, he couldn’t stop looking.
The parole board reviewed his case. Asked their questions. Meech answered on autopilot, but his attention was elsewhere. Every few minutes, he’d turn and stare at Zahara with that same confused expression.
And she wouldn’t look at him. Not once.
When they called her to testify, she stood on shaky legs.
