“Morning, Tamika,” I answered, keeping my voice neutral despite the interruption to my routine.
“Morning? There’s nothing good about it. We have problems,” Tamika fired back, her voice crisp with the efficiency that made me hire her as an assistant three years ago — no pleasantries, no bullshit, only facts delivered with the precision of a surgeon.
I set my coffee down. “What kind of problems?”
Tamika summed them up. First, Hannah quit, which was annoying but not catastrophic. The temp agency would send someone within hours, and we’d find a permanent replacement within two weeks. I made a note to review our onboarding process to identify the causes of turnover.
Second, our biggest client Westridge... Their background checks were doable if we reallocated resources. I’d need to personally review the final reports to ensure they met our standards despite the rushed timeline. Not ideal, but manageable.
Third, my mother… That particular problem had no immediate solution other than the eventual confrontation I’d been avoiding for months. The tried-and-true method of deflection and delay would have to suffice for now.
I pulled out a legal pad and wrote each issue in order of priority, breaking them down into actionable steps with deadlines attached. The familiar process of organizing chaos into manageable chunks calmed the buzzing in my head and restored the sense of control I depended on.
By the time I’d finished, my breathing steadied, and the tightness in my chest receded to its usual dull presence. I stood, straightening my tie and smoothing my already smooth shirt before heading to the door. Despite this morning’s disruptions, it was time to brief the team and redistribute assignments. Black Security & Investigations would continue to function with the precision and reliability that had become our trademark.
The team briefing went as well as expected, meaning nobody openly questioned my decisions, but Martinez’s sigh when I told him to drop his surveillance didn’t go unnoticed. Couldn’t blame him. He spent three days tracking a cheating husband in a Marriott across town, and now he had to hand it off right before the money shot. Yet business was business, and Westridge paid our bills.
Once everyone cleared out with their new assignments, I closed my office door and sank into my chair, finally alone with the thoughts I’d kept at bay all morning. Trust and reputation, the twin pillars holding up everything I’d built. Both almost went up in flames fifteen years ago, along with Wright’s Hardware Store.
I rubbed my temples, a tension headache building behind my eyes. Black Security & Investigations wasn’t just a company; it was redemption packaged in LLC paperwork. Every contract we landed, every client who chose us over the bigger firms from Goodwin Grove, were all voting for the version of Langston Black I fought like hell to become — the trusted one, the reliable one, the one who built something legitimate.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I investigated people for a living when my own past required the biggest cover-up this town had ever known. One night, one mistake, and everything I’d worked for would have been gone if not for Aven Compton and those big brown eyes looking straight at the sheriff, lying.
My fingers drummed against the desk as the memory rose unbidden, as fresh as if it happened last night instead of fifteen years ago.
I was seventeen, drunk off cheap vodka and the false confidence that came with it. The party a week before graduation at Dalvin Wright’s was winding down, with a few of us left shooting the shit around a fire pit in the back. His parents were always out of town.
Dalvin talked shit about how his dad would fuck him out of his inheritance if he didn’t go to college and keeping the family hardware store in their last name instead of converting it to add Dalvin’s name in a joint ownership as he’d promised.
“I should burn that bitch down. Insurance money’s better than waiting for the old man to die anyway,” Dalvin slurred, tossing another log onto the fire.
I’d laughed along with everyone else, too wasted to recognize the seriousness beneath his drunken declaration. Two hours later, I’d gone to the community center, climbed through an open window, and passed out on the bleachers while Dalvin and a couple of others took off “for a drive.” I woke up to sirens in the distance.
By morning, Wright’s Hardware was a charred skeleton, and at school, Dalvin pointed fingers at me. Yet, who was going to believe me over Dalvin Wright, varsity quarterback with a 4.0 GPA? No one in this town, not with my mother’s reputation shadowing me like a rain cloud.
Then Aven stepped in. Aven Compton, with her honor roll status, community service awards, and parents who were pillars of the Black community.
“Langston was with me. We were studying at my house. My parents were at their church retreat, but you can call them to confirm they gave him permission to come over. We were working on our English lit paper. I can show you our notesif you want,” she said, her voice steady as she faced Sheriff Davis in the high school office. She’d looked at me then, a silent command to keep my mouth shut, and let her handle it.
Sheriff Davis looked between us, suspicion written all over his face. “You expect me to believe Langston Black was studying on a Friday night instead of at the party with the rest of the basketball team?”
“Believe what you want, but Langston’s been working hard to bring his grades up for a scholarship. Ask Ms. Patterson if you don’t believe me. He turned in his paper early, and she gave him an A,” Aven commented, shrugging those slender shoulders like his disbelief was his problem, not hers.
That part, at least, had been genuine. The basketball scholarship was my only ticket out, and I’d busted my ass in classes after Coach made it clear my grades needed to improve. Ms. Patterson helped me after school, impressed enough with my progress to write a letter of recommendation.
The alibi held… barely, but it was enough to keep me out of handcuffs. The real story came out a few days after graduation, as Dalvin and his buddies confessed after the insurance investigator found evidence the fire had started in three different places.
I ran a hand down my face as a physical manifestation of the discomfort these memories always brought me. My shoulders tensed, jaw clenching as I remembered the relief and shame that flooded me when I realized I was in the clear. Relief because I wasn’t going to jail, and shame because an innocent girl put her reputation on the line for me.
We never really talked about why she did it. There was a moment behind the gym when I tried to thank her.
“Why’d you lie for me?” I’d asked, unable to meet her eyes.
Aven stayed quiet so long, I didn’t think she would answer.
“Because you didn’t do it. And because nobody else would have believed you.”
Simple as that. No holding it over my head. Just the pure, uncomplicated justice of a girl who couldn’t stand to see someone punished for something they didn’t do.
