“Taking the yacht out after this?” I tease.
“Not all of us enjoy suits.” He eyes my black slacks and Italian shoes, which are shined for my close-up. My dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top so my gold cross can shine.
Everything is falling into place. There’s just one more piece.
Attorney General Kennedy Richards steps to the podium with a fresh press, buttoning a light gray suit. She scans the room with a silent authority emphasized by the shift of her hips.
Her tone is a smooth alto with zero tolerance for bullshit. “Good morning. Your attendance is appreciated. My office has initiated an investigation into allegations of misconduct and fraud within the Buffalo Revival Department, including real estate developers who have benefited from exclusive contracts through campaign contributions to the current administration.
“As your attorney general, it is my duty to protect our state from fraudulent, deceptive, and illegal practices. We willwithhold details to investigate without prejudice while we determine whether charges and other disciplinary measures are necessary at its conclusion.”
She steps aside for Marcela and the City Council president. Big sis is fit for war in her plum suit. I’ve never seen the council president before. Judging by the sweat beading at the top of his balding head, he doesn’t want to be here.
“In light of the recent investigation, City Council passed a resolution to place a moratorium on the sale of vacant lots across the East Side of Buffalo,” Council President Gallagher recites like he practiced in the mirror. “We’ve heard the concerns of residents”—he looks to Marcela—“and Councilmember Beckford to make development more equitable. We will conduct a series of public hearings over the course of the next two months to develop a strategic plan that considers all city residents.”
“For years, community members have questioned who truly benefits from Buffalo’s revival,” Marcela says to the cameras and attendees. “We’ve questioned why the same corporations get to build houses across the city, houses that are neither affordable nor accessible to everyday Buffalonians.”
“That’s right!” an elder shouts.
“City Hall continues to operate through business-as-usual practices while passing off the buck. I applaud the attorney general for investigating the Buffalo Revival Department, an office chaired by our current mayor, with campaign contributors who have deep pockets and vested interest in seeing their projects thrive. Today, we say the buck stops here. It’s high time City Hall works for the people, not the corporations that line their pockets. I look forward to working with my colleagues on City Council. We need more public servants to do what’s right, even if it takes them a while to get there.”
Mitchell Library erupts in applause. Marcela claims she has no interest in being mayor—“too many people are in my businessalready,” she tells Miriam—but she sounds like the leader we need.
“We’ll now hear from Bryan McCaw, Commissioner of the Rugby League of America.” Marcela makes room for Coach Washington and I to take our places behind him at the podium.
“Thank you, councilmember,” McCaw says, a touch of his Scottish accent peeking out. “In light of an internal investigation into the practices of Buffalo Steel owner Frank Mancini and the violation of league rules, the RLA is exercising its right as the governing body to issue an interim owner, effective immediately. Temporary management will run through the remainder of the year. Mancini, who also owns Hunter Development Corporation, which is being investigated, has agreed to sell the franchise after failing to cooperate with our probe. We hope to announce a new owner by the new year, and we look forward to seeing the Steel compete in the playoffs.”
Who owns who now?
What I would’ve paid to see the smirk wiped off Mancini’s face. It’s too bad I couldn’t see it in person. Guess who fled to Florida?
Whispers of his alleged involvement with the mayor in corruption and uncovering irregularities in his accounts fueled the RLA to take immediate action. I didn’t think we’d see the day. The media has been running with the story since the RLA’s decision earlier this week, and they’re shining a light on the lack of a players’ union, minimal healthcare coverage and benefits, and low wages.
Will all of that change tomorrow? I doubt it, but it’s a start.
The press conference concludes. I make a beeline for Miriam and get intercepted by a five-foot-six ball of sunshine in box braids.
“We have you set up in the resource room. PSN has twenty minutes—no questions off-limits, per your request. But I’ll bethere in case there’s something you don’t want to answer. Just be yourself—”
“Reese?”
She nods. “Sorry. You got it.”
“I was going to say thank you for what you did for Miriam. I appreciate you looking out for her.”
“Oh, it was nothing.” She dismisses my gratitude with a hand but offers a smile. “The Steel have become family, and Miriam is a friend. It wasn’t right what happened, and Dickhead deserved what he got.”
“Am I rubbing off on you, Reese?” I chuckle.
“A good girl never tells.” She winks and skips over to Miriam, all but tackling her in a hug.
A tornado of white and yellow ruffles spins in squeals. Reese rubbed off on Miriam. Doe wore that Victorian-era top on her own, but she laughs harder and smiles wider whenever Reese is around.
I drop a kiss onto Miriam’s cheek. “I gotta do an interview. See you over there?”
“I’ll come with Reese in a sec.”
It takes a few handshakes and photos to reach the resource room.
