“Jotting some notes.”Keisha minimized her screen.
“Coastal Futures audit?”
“Among other things.”
“Malik said the board wants that dropped.”
“Did he now?”Keisha’s jaw tightened.
“We’re stretched thin.”Amara’s glasses slipped.“Just follow orders.”
“What if someone’s dodging the rules?”Keisha locked eyes.“You signed off on three placements.Check addresses?Meet families?”
Amara stiffened.“I follow protocol.”
“Not with P.O.boxes.”
“Clerical errors.”Her tone chilled.“Watch yourself, Crawford.Not everyone’s as patient as Malik.”
Amara walked off, typing resuming sharper than before.Keisha’s phone buzzed:Last warning.Fatigue clawed her eyes, but she stood, grabbing her satchel and Tiana’s photo.
“Heading to lunch?”Amara called.
“Something like that.”
The walk to the exit stretched, unseen eyes on her neck.Outside, Miami’s sun blinded her.Her car sat five steps away—tires slashed, glass scattered across the driver’s seat.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
The lot was empty.Her tremor surged.She knew from experience that 911 was useless.She called Cassia.
“Cassia, someone slashed all my tires and smashed my windows,” Keisha said, voice steady despite her pulse.
“Where are you?”Cassia snapped.
“The agency parking lot.”
“I’m coming.Twenty minutes.Get back inside.”
“It doesn’t feel safe in there.”Keisha scanned for Amara.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you’re here.Just hurry.”
“Stay on the line,” Cassia said.
Keisha slipped into a tree’s shade, watching the building and parking lot.“It’s the audit.Fifteen kids, bad placements.Someone’s trying to shut me down.”
“They texted you?”
“Threatened Tiana.Then this.”
Cassia’s engine roared.“Have you called the cops?”
“No point.”Keisha’s knees wobbled, leaning against the tree.“I think it’s trafficking.Fake families, new identities.”
“Five minutes,” Cassia said.
