Page 87 of The Wright Man

Maleek

The smell hit me first.

That sterile, industrial tang of bleach and stale air, mixed with whatever sadness clung to the walls of every detention center in America. Cold. Metallic. Impersonal. Like grief in fluorescent lighting.

I handed over my ID without looking the officer in the eye. Didn't need to. I'd done this before. Presented my license, signed the sheet, watched them scan it like I was the one they were clocking. Pat-down. Metal detector. Shoes off, belt off, soul off. Nothing had changed. Same routine. Same sting.

I knew the drill. But that didn't make it easier.

If anything, it made it worse. Familiarity bred a kind of quiet dread.

Four years.

It had been four years since I last walked this same path, and somehow it still felt like yesterday. I told myself I was ready. Told myself I could handle it. But with every door that buzzed open and clanked shut behind me, my chest got tighter. Like the past was folding in on me, inch by inch.

The visiting room smelled like disinfectant and recycled air. That same faint mildew that clung to cinderblock walls no matter how hard they scrubbed it. I took a seat at the assigned booth, the vinyl chair creaking under my weight, and placed my palms flat on the cold metal table in front of me. I didn't look up at the glass yet.

I just sat there, breathing through my nose, trying to slow the war drum thudding behind my ribs.

I wasn't performing for anyone. There was nobody to perform for. Just me and the glass and the nine years I'd been carrying like a stone in my chest.

Because my mind wasn't here—not really.

I was back in time, nine years ago.

We knew Kareem was no saint... That he'd been hustling, running the streets with Leon and Khalil. The arrest shouldn't have been a shock… and it wasn't. The charges were what shocked us.

First-degree murder. Kidnapping. Human trafficking. Possession of a firearm.

They stacked the charges like bricks, like they were building a wall between us and him so high we'd never see him again.

A robbery gone wrong. Khalil was dead—shot during the job. A 13-year-old girl, the daughter of the dealer they attempted to rob, missing. No trace of her. No clue if she was alive. Just… gone.

Leon told the cops Kareem planned the whole thing. Said he shot Khalil for being greedy. Said he handed the girl off to a pimp they both knew. Like Kareem was just out here part of some kind of underground trafficking ring. Like my brother was the devil himself.

And the worst part? They believed him.

It didn't matter that Leon had more dirt on his record than Kareem ever did. Didn't matter that the only other person who could've told the truth—Khalil—was dead. Didn't matter that the girl was missing, not found, not even confirmed to be a victim. Didn't matter that Kareem swore it didn't happen that way.

Didn't matter who he was before this.

To them, he was just another Black boy, with a dead mama, who'd finally proven their assumptions right.

But I knew better.

That was my brother. The same boy who let Angelica paint his nails glittery pink when we were kids, just to make her laugh. Who snuck me extra slices of pound cake when Mama wasn't looking. Who once fought a boy—and his two older brothers—for calling Tina fat on the playground. Yeah, Kareem had hustled. Had done some shit he shouldn't have. But he wasn't a monster. Not this.

His public defender didn't give a shit. Sat there like a prop, let Leon perform on the stand like he was auditioning for a damn Oscar. The jury didn't take long. The conviction came down fast. Loud.

And when they sentenced him.. 35 to life.

I lost it.

They had to drag me out of that courtroom—arms flailing, voice gone raw from screaming his name. Kareem was fighting just as hard, reaching for me like he could pull me with him. They tore us apart like animals, like we weren't blood, like we weren't both shattering in real time.

They weren't just taking my brother—they were giving me one more reason to run.

The sound of the metal doors creaking brought me back to the present. I looked up to see my brother being brought in, his shackles being removed, and the chair across the glass from me being pulled out.