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“You at the house?”

“Yes, what’s⁠—”

“I’m on my way,” I said, cutting him off. I hung up and started the car.

My father was gonna explain this Solomon Graves shit. I was tired of being in the dark.

He was in his office reading something on his laptop. His forehead creased when he saw the look on my face.

“What’s the whole story with you and Solomon?” I asked, as I sat in the chair across from him.

“It’s complicated,” he said, closing his laptop slowly.

“You knew it was him behind the stash house way before Marco brought his name up at Jerome’s.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back at me. “What do you already know?”

“That he did twenty years for the family and you cut his people off about a year into his bid. That little nigga Deonte was his nephew. Solomon had him working for us and he was feeding him information.”

A haunted look settled over my father’s face as he put the pieces together in real time. “How long was the nephew working for you?”

“Eight months.”

“I told you that Solomon was my consigliere.” He exhaled and sat back in his chair. “He took the fall for the murder of a police officer. There was a detective who’d been getting too close to finding shit out about me that would’ve taken me down. The self-righteous motherfucker couldn’t be bribed. So, he had to go.”

This information was all new to me. I’d never heard of my father getting close to being exposed. He’d lined the pockets of so many police officers and DAs for as long as I could remember. Between him and the High Table, they basically owned half the city.

“So of course I agreed to take care of his family, no questions asked. But about six months into his sentence I got some information.”

“What kind of information?”

“Solomon and your mother had an affair,” he said. “I didn’t know how long it’d been going on. I never got the full picture. By the time I found out, your mother was already gone so there was nothing to—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “The point is I found out and made a decision.”

The room tilted slightly.

My mother died when I was seven, and every memory I had of her was good. She was beautiful, smart, and kind. I never heard her and my father raise their voices at each other. They seemed happy. In love.

Even now, sitting here hearing this, I knew my pops still loved her.

That was the part that made it worse.

“You cut off his family because of the affair?”

“What happened to his family was a consequence of his actions.” He went over to his wet bar and reached for the decanter filled with bourbon. He poured out a shot and threw it back.

“His actions?” Anger simmered in my chest. “His sister didn’t have the affair, Pop. You punished innocent people because of what Solomon did. That woman lost her house and struggled for years. You ain’t even give them a little bread to hold them over.”

“Watch yourself,” he warned.

“I just killed that man’s nephew. And I couldn’t even fault him for what he did. I’d hate you too. You made a promise to those people and reneged.”

“I did what I had to do. I couldn’t let it slide.”

“You moved off fucking emotion. I thought only weak men did that shit.”

Pops snatched me up by the collar of my shirt and pulled me close enough that I could smell the bourbon on his breath. “Watch how the fuck you talk to me, Cardez.” He shoved me backward. “I don’t give a fuck about you running shit out there. I’m still the head of this family. When you get betrayed by the person you exchanged vows with, start a family with, then you can tell me how to handle shit.”

I caught my balance and stared at him. A year ago—maybe six months ago—I would’ve taken this shit on the chin, but I was done.