Danger glanced down at the card. “What’s this?”
“A therapist. I remembered her from when I designed the space she runs her practice out of, so I reached out. Turns out, she specializes in trauma and grief among other shit. You gon’ call her, give her your schedule, and lock in three days a week. If you need more than that, I’ll bump it.”
Crown couldn’t be Lil Mo. He couldn’t watch Danger’s every move, every hour of the day. But he could still show up for him in his own way, even when Danger swore he didn’t need it. He saw his brother slipping and struggling, and that alone was enough. He wasn’t waiting until he crashed and burned to fix it.
Danger scoffed, shaking his head. “A therapist? Bro, what the fuck?”
“Don’t argue with me on this, nigga. That pain you feelin’ ain’t just gon’ disappear overnight. And then what? You back on coke again? Or worse… findin’ somethin’ else to cope. If it comes to that, my next move is an intensive program. So, man up, go get the help, and tighten the fuck up.”
Danger grew quiet, bowing his head. He couldn’t argue. With Lil Mo gone, he felt like a piece of him was missing. He was hurting. Bad.
“This ain’t the time for pride. You need help, even if it’s just somewhere to talk that shit out. Go get it. It’s on me.”
Danger rested his hand on Crown’s shoulder, expressing his gratitude. “I appreciate you, bro. More than you know. A nigga forever indebted to you.”
Crown shook his head. “You ain’t indebted to me for nothing. And I appreciate you for what you did for Nivéa.”
“Always,” Danger replied without hesitation. “You know I got you, same way I know you got me.”
They stood there quietly as the sun climbed higher, light spreading across the family plots. Crown took one last look at Lil Mo’s headstone and said,
“I’m out.”
Without waiting for a response, he walked away, leaving the quiet behind him and stepping back into a world that didn’t stop moving, even when it took some shit from you.
An hour later, Crown stepped onto the site. His crew hadn’t arrived yet. It was just the steel frame climbing upward, the concrete core poured, and the raw bones of what would soon dominate the skyline.
With his hands tucked into his utility jacket, he moved on a mission. He started with the footprint, setbacks from the property line, street frontage, and pedestrian flow. The tower crane hung over everything, and the reinforced core stood solid at the center, elevator shafts already boxed in. Good, he thought. That was the spine of the building. Everything else would wrap around it.
He headed toward the street-level service side and stopped at the future loading dock entrance, scanning the approach and clearance. He knew service trucks would need clean access without cutting through tenant traffic. In real life, the turn looked tighter than it did on the drawings. He clocked it and kept it moving.
Inside the open ground level, columns rose in a clean grid, and steel beams stretched above. Crown walked the perimeterwhere the curtain wall would eventually lock in, imagining glass replacing open air. The eastern exposure was wide open, and that meant morning light would pour in heavily.
He crossed to the street-facing side of the structure and stopped where the main entrance would sit. Crown tilted his head back, studying the temporary decking above. In his mind, dust and steel turned into polished stone, a double-height lobby, floor-to-ceiling glass, and security gates. He pulled his tablet from under his arm and brought up the blueprints. His eyes moved between the renderings and what was actually in front of him. A few things didn’t sit right. He made quick notes. And just as he finished up, his burner rang inside his pocket.
Sighing, Crown glanced at the screen and shook his head when he saw who it was. “Yeah,” He answered.
“Crown,” a member of the Council said, firmly.
“I thought we made it clear that we would be peaceful because too much noise brings attention. And attention brings cops. Your shit is all over the news. That kind of heat is bad for everyone’s business.”
Crown looked back across the empty site, unfazed. “You have that nigga Nico to thank for that. Ravens broke the truce first, Hem. And now, I don’t feel so fuckin’ peaceful.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“Meeting Friday. Six o’clock. Don’t be late. Tell Danger to join us.”
The call ended before Crown could respond, and he wasn’t surprised. He stood there for a moment longer, staring out at the land. Two different worlds were pulling at him simultaneously. And both required structure, strategy, and foresight.
Truth was, Crown was tired of carrying it all. He needed a vacation. But there was no time for that. Instead, he texted Smoky and Danger in a group message, calling an urgent meeting.
∞∞∞
It was late afternoon, and Crown worked quietly inside his office. The high-rise plans filled his screen, the digital set spread across dual monitors. He transferred notes from his morning site walk into clean revisions, adjusting the loading dock approach and widening the turn radius he’d clocked as too tight. By the time he saved the final draft, forty-five minutes had passed. Deciding to take a break, he leaned back in his chair, reaching for his phone.
Nivéa’s text thread was still open, an organized list of everything she needed. He pulled up his browser and searched for a local supplier. Within minutes, Crown found a shop across town that stocked most of the items on her list and offered same-day delivery. He placed the order under his business name, paid in full, and scheduled it to arrive at his home. He also made a mental note to grab the rest himself when he left the clubhouse later that evening. That handled, he returned his attention to his screen. Just as he began reviewing a recent email, a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
