“The knife.” I nodded. “India handed her a glass of water. Vivica set it down, picked up a knife from the counter—India told her she’d been cutting fruit earlier and forgot to put it away. Vivica moved it to the sink without even thinking.”
“Fingerprints,” Quest said with satisfaction.
“Fingerprints.”
“What happened after Vivica left?”
“That’s when the real work started.” I signaled the bartender for another round. “We had a doctor—someone I knew from my time with Rashid. He owed me. We brought him in, set up in the living room, and he drained damn near two pints of blood from India.”
Justice grimaced. “That’s wild.”
“Had to be realistic.You can’t fake a murder scene with a few drops. So we took enough to make it look fatal, then gave her a transfusion to replace what we took.” I paused. “She was weak for a few days after, but she’ll live. She’s halfway to Cambodia by now.”
“And the blood?”
“Splattered everywhere. The walls, the floor, the couch. Made it look like a struggle. Left the knife—the one with Vivica’s fingerprints—on the floor like it had been dropped.”
“Then you called it in,” Justice said.
“Anonymous tip. Neighbor heard screaming, sounds of a fight. By the time the cops showed up, India was gone. Just blood everywhere and evidence pointing straight at Vivica.”
I looked at Justice and Quest. “And y’all came through with the passports. That was the icing on the cake.”
“We putthem in her bedroom safe,” Quest said, looking proud of himself.
“When the fedssearched her house after the FBI raid, they found everything.”
“Flight risk,”Justice added. “No bail.”
“No bail,”I confirmed. “Couldn’t have done it without y’all.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what we’d done settling over us. We’d just taken down our own mother. Framed her for a murder that didn’t happen. Ended her career, her freedom, her entire life.
And I didn’t feel a damn thing.
Well. That wasn’t entirely true. I felt satisfied. I felt like justice had finally been served. Vivica had spent decades manipulating, controlling, destroying. She’d ruined our father. She’d tried to ruin Zainab. And now?
Now she was done.
“What do you think Daddy would say?” Quest asked suddenly. “If he could see this?”
Justice stared at his glass. “He’d probably say we should’ve done it sooner.”
Quest laughed. “Facts.”
I thought about Alexander Banks. The father I never really knew. The man Vivica had broken down piece by piece until there was nothing left.
“I think he’d be proud,”I said quietly. “That we finally saw through her bullshit.”
Justice raised his glass again. “To Pops.”
“To Pops,” Quest and I echoed.
We drank.
The news had moved on to some other story, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that image. Vivica in handcuffs. Vivica in the back of a squad car. Vivica’s mugshot.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw Zainab’s name.
