Her shoulders eased. “I like that. Thank you.”
I reached to take the card back, but she stopped me with a quick look and a firmer grip on my hand. Then she slid the card into her purse.
“I’ll keep this,” she said, slowly smiling. “Next time just ask me first.”
18
KAI RICHARDSON
City Council sessions looked boring on TV until you understood what was really happening. On paper, this one was about zoning and “process.” In plain language, it was about whether a developer could move forward with building a big project in a specific part of my ward, or whether the city was going to slow it down and force more steps before anybody could put a shovel in the ground.
Today, I planned to force an official pause on Project 83 by using city process as a weapon. Sincere had yet to let me know if the Cartiers agreed to the Crowns’ terms. I had to show them that this wasn’t a game, before the Crown cut my fucking head off for not delivering what I promised. I was going to force a temporary moratorium on development activity in that specific zoning area, meaning the developer couldn’t keep moving forward like normal while the pause was active. Then I planned to trigger a formal environmental review requirement, the kind that creates paperwork, timelines, and extra approvals, so the project would get slowed down, despite the developer having money and contractors ready. This way, I would legally stall the Cartiers’ development and prove my loyalty to the Crown.
The chamber was packed. Cameras lined the side wall. Protesters filled the back rows with printed signs and matching T-shirts. Staffers moved around with folders and tablets, whispering in groups.
When my item came up, I stood, walked to the mic, and started my performance. “This city has watched predatory development sweep through our neighborhoods for too long. We’ve watched communities get promised revitalization, only to be handed displacement. We’ve watched rents rise, taxes rise, and families who built these blocks get treated like they were temporary.”
Murmurs in the chamber turned into approval. A few people clapped. Camera lights blinked as reporters adjusted their angles.
“This is not about being anti-development,” I continued. “This is about being pro-people. If a project is truly for the community, then it will survive transparency. It will survive review. It will survive questions about environmental impact, traffic, infrastructure, and the real benefits to residents who live there right now.”
Protesters cheered at the word transparency. I lifted my hand to calm them down. “So today, I am calling for a temporary moratorium in this zone while we conduct a full environmental review and require a community benefits agreement with clear terms and enforceable commitments.”
The chamber erupted the way I needed it to. My supporters clapped. Protesters stood. Phones went up. Somebody yelled, “Thank you!” like I’d just saved their grandmother’s mortgage.
The cameras loved me. And I played into it, nodding solemnly and expression showing concern. But, inside, I was sweating.
The Crown didn’t care that their demand of the Cartiers was insane. They didn’t care that it wasn’t how legitimate dealsworked. They cared about what they could take and who they could bully to get it.
I sat back down, hands folded, eyes forward, acting like I wasn’t thinking about Rico’s boots in my ass if I didn’t get him what he wanted quick.
Then I stepped back from the mic and returned to my seat.
That’s when Langford stood and approached the mic. “Mr. Chair, I respect my colleague’s passion, and I respect the concerns of residents who want to protect their homes. But I have to be honest about what we are doing here. A moratorium freezes an entire zone and sends a message to every responsible investor that Chicago will change the rules midstream when a project becomes unpopular on social media. We already have established review processes for environmental concerns. We have mechanisms for community benefits agreements. If the issue is accountability, then we can get accountability through existing channels without halting everything and creating unnecessary economic damage. If we want jobs, tax base, and neighborhood investment, we have to be careful about how quickly we reach for the emergency brake. We can demand transparency without punishing progress.”
He didn’t say the Cartier name, but I knew who he was protecting. Langford wasn’t attacking me directly. He was doing something smarter. He was making my moratorium look extreme and performative, and he was doing it in a way that sounded reasonable to colleagues who didn’t want to look like they were anti-jobs.
The clerk called the vote.
A few aldermen repeated Langford’s concerns for the record. They talked about “not stifling investment” and “not slowing progress.” A few others nodded along with me like they were protecting the working class. Most of them followed the wind and voted yes.
The motion passed.
The temporary moratorium had been approved, and an environmental review had been ordered.
I glanced toward the back of the chamber, pretending I was scanning the crowd. That’s when I saw Sincere Bellamy. He stood near the rear doors with his hands in his coat pockets and eyes locked on me like he was imagining me six feet in the dirt.
My throat went dry.
I forced my expression to stay unbothered until the session moved on. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Taking it out, I saw a text message from an unknown number: Good job. The Crown is happy. Now get the Cartiers to agree to 30%… Or we’ll take 30% of your legs.
I returned my phone to my pocket, feeling my heart beat so fast that it felt like it was about to explode.
The Crown was greedy and unintelligent, but very fucking violent. The Cartiers were smart and just as violent. I was trapped between two storms, and both of them were already rushing toward me.
SINCERE BELLAMY
Once I was in my ride after the City Council meeting, I hit up Icon.
