I turned and saw one of my coworkers, a white girl, April, walking toward us with concern all over her face. Her eyes went straight to Kodi.
Kodi took another step back, and his posture shifted like he finally remembered he was acting an ass in the vicinity of white folks that don’t have a problem calling the police.
“I’m okay,” I said quickly.
My coworker looked between us, not convinced. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I repeated. “I’m sure.”
Kodi stared at me like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t because he couldn’t.
I did not give him a chance to embarrass me. I stormed past him and headed straight into the building. My arm was throbbing where his fingers had been.
And as I walked toward the time clock, it scared me that I had never seen Kodi look like that.
Kodi had never put his hands on me in the past. And I took it seriously when a man did. First times always turned into patterns if you let them. Him having grabbed my arm like that, coupled with purposely ruining my painting, let me know that Kodi was unraveling. I had been using him for convenience, but he had clearly thought we were still together. Now he finally realized that I was truly done with our relationship, and he was pissed.
I knew right then I needed to put some real distance between me and Kodi until he calmed down. Even if that meant keeping him away from the kids for a while.
KAI RICHARDSON
That Tuesday afternoon, me and a few city staffers met with Sincere Bellamy at Marlowe’s on Wabash.
Sincere walked in completely unrattled, and, surprisingly, without his entourage. This would have been easier if he’d come in here looking like a gangsta with security. Street niggas who need fifty people around them are easier to manipulate. Men who move alone are harder to control.
Officially, this was a meeting to talk about how the Cartiers could proceed in a way that pleased me and the community. Unofficially, this meeting was to ensure The Crown got a piece of this project. If not, they would cause a big problem for the Cartiers.
The Crown Syndicate had been washing their street money for years by feeding my campaigns. In return, I greased city contracts, tipped them when raids were coming, and made sure their enemies had a harder time doing business. Now, they wanted to make sure this project didn’t crown the Cartiers’ king of the South Side without them getting a cut. The Crown wanted a piece or a problem, and I was the one who had to make sure they got at least one of those.
The Crown had associates that acted as protesters when we needed to make a scene at the development site and would be muscle when we needed to put fear in the Cartiers. They were ready to create more organized anger at every meeting, more signs, more cameras catching “concerned citizens” yelling about Cartel condos, maybe even a staged scuffle at the fence line. And if they didn’t get what they wanted, they were ready to cause violence.
“Alderman Richardson, appreciate you making time to meet with me,” Sincere greeted as he walked up to the table and shook my hand.
“You’re talking about putting real money in my ward,” I told him with a grin. “I’m always going to make time for that.”
The Planning Director, Housing Policy Director, and my policy aide greeted him as well. Then we ordered food, made small talk, and then I started the meeting. “People are upset about this development, and I don’t blame them. They hear ‘luxury’ and think, ‘My landlord about to raise my rent and white folks about to walk their dogs past my mama house.’”
Chuckling, Sincere replied, “We’re not trying to push anyone out of the neighborhood. We’re providing new housing and opportunities. But we can’t make progress if every meeting turns into a protest and a circus.”
“Understandable. But I hope that it’s also understandable to you why there is outrage. Which is why, at the town hall, I called for a temporary moratorium on this project. If I can get the community some answers, I am sure the protest will stop.”
Rodriguez glanced at me, then at Sincere. Davis watched quietly. My policy director checked something in her notebook.
“So let us start there,” I went on. “Who is really behind this project? I do not mean the name on the flyer. I mean ownership. Who controls the company that is doing this build?”
Sincere didn’t fidget. “Bellamy Urban Development owns the project company on paper. That is my firm. We set up a separate LLC just for this site, like anybody would with a deal this size.”
“And the money? People want to know where it is coming from. Bank? Private investors? What are we talking about?”
“A commercial loan with Lakeside Bank,” he answered. “Traditional financing. We put in equity from my firm and partners. The bank covers the rest. The city is not on the hook if this fails.”
“So, if I tell my residents this is bank-backed and not a bunch of gangsters, I am not lying.”
“You would not be lying,” he replied with a straight face. “The bank has their own lawyers and risk management team looking at every piece of this. They do not play guesswork.”
I nodded like I bought it, but I knew he was lying. The Crown had already shown me proof that this project was getting funded with clean money on the surface and cartel money underneath.
I wasn’t dumb enough to expect him to say that out loud at a table full of city staff. If I were him, I would have told the same story. That was how this city worked: you dressed the truth up just pretty enough that it was believable to the public.
