Page 5 of Meet Me on Greenwood

"I think I need two more months, maybe three," I said.

Tina threw a file marked in red onto the table. "We don’t have that. Look at these numbers. I’ve been warning you about the spending."

I picked up the file briefly, putting it down once I saw all the negative numbers. "We needed to upgrade the equipment," I said. "I stopped taking a salary months ago. Hasn’t that helped?"

"Not even close. We need an infusion of cash."

I looked toward Mason, our grants manager. "Any luck?"

He shook his head. "We keep getting the same feedback on loans and grants. Too risky. They don’t see the return on investment."

I rolled my eyes. "Why must this world depend on profits when the good of mankind is on the line?"

"What about your father?" Andy asked.

"Perhaps we take the weekend to think about it," Maise interjected, reentering the room. "Maybe things will be clearer."

I gave her a look, which she batted away, but I couldn’t relax. The board had asked me many times to approach my father, Alfred Cross, about financing the project, but any help from him would come with strings. He was a well-known judge in Oklahoma who’d built his wealth from winning prominent cases and investing in hedge funds.

"Why not take ROC up on their offer?" Andrea asked.

"We are not selling," I said firmly. "Plus, they want pennies on the dollar."

"We’ll find a way," Maise said confidently, reaching out to touch my crossed arms. As my biggest champion in the room, she looked at me earnestly. "If we do not find a source of cash, we will need to close these doors by the end of the month."

I looked back at the board and the expressions on their faces confirmed it.

We’d run out of time.

2

Houston

Welcome National Negro Businessmen!

1920

My suit was too tight. It had been a perfect fit at the tailor, and I’d worn it to the last two events I’d attended, but for some reason today, the collar cinched too closely around my neck and the jacket crinkled and bunched. After messing with it in my rearview mirror, I finally resigned myself to undoing the top button, prioritizing comfort over style. I also decided against buttoning the jacket and let it fall loose against my sides.

It wasn’t every day that I received the Distinguished Service Award from the very private and elite Commercial Club. I’d been surprised when Larry Page, my girlfriend Sarah’s father, had delivered the news that I’d been nominated. I’d honestly forgotten about it, assuming I wouldn’t win, but I had, and now I was shaking hands with and schmoozing all the top politicians and businessmen in the city.

I took out my handkerchief, dabbing the sweat from my brow. Sarah was waiting just outside the building, her blonde tresses falling out from beneath the hat she was attempting to hold on her head. The wind was so strong that it blew her dress at an angle which allowed me to see the top of her thighs. We’d met a few months ago through mutual friends and had immediately taken to one another.

She smiled as soon as she saw me, waving me forward. "You look lovely," I said.

Sarah reached up, buttoning my collar. Standing back, she assessed me from head to toe.

"You are a handsome man," she said. "I wish I had that permanent tan you’re always sporting."

"It’s that Cherokee blood," I said.

She leaned in to give me a kiss. "I love it," she whispered. The kiss was light and formal. It was the kind of kiss one might give in front of parents, or a congregation at a wedding. It was nice, but I craved more. I never got the chance to ask her for more. Over her shoulder, I caught sight of a food cart bearing down on us, piled high with roasted peanuts.

I picked her up and quickly moved her out of the way.

“Watch yourself,” I said alerting the vendor of his error.

The man stopped, removing his cap to wipe the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. He wore dark trousers and a jacket that had seen better days.