She stole my daughter’s birthday present! Stop that girl right now!
The scent of stale beer and damp concrete clung to the alley behind The Cue Stick. Jerome Barksdale’s gleaming black sedan was parked halfway down, its engine off, the air inside already growing stuffy in the rising heat. He looked like a trapped animal, his usually slicked-back hair slightly disheveled.
Miller, Big Ray’s chief enforcer, stood casually leaning against the passenger side door, blocking any escape. Another man, equally formidable, stood by the driver’s side. No weapons were drawn, no voices raised, but the air thrummed with unspoken menace.
Miller held a folder in his hand. It wasn’t the kind of official legal folder Barksdale was used to. It was plain manila, but the contents were far more damning.
“Mr. Barksdale,” Miller said, his voice even, almost conversational. “Mr. Beaufort would like a word.”
Barksdale swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the two men. “I… I don’t know what this is about. I’m a respected professional.”
“Indeed,” Miller replied, opening the folder. He pulled out a crisp, printed sheet. It was a copy of the forged deed for Marcus’s mother’s house, the one Barksdale had notarized. “Do you recognize this?”
Barksdale’s eyes widened, his face paling even further. “That’s… that’s a legal document. Property transfer.”
Miller slid a few more papers from the folder. Copies of other deeds, all with Barksdale’s notary stamp, all for properties belonging to elderly Black homeowners, all tied to suspicious transfers. Nia Gaines’s work, now in the hands of the street.
“We have copies of eight, Mr. Barksdale,” Miller continued, his voice still calm. “All with your official stamp. All connected to transactions that seem… less than legitimate.”
He held up the forged deed again. “And this one, for Dorothy Hollis’s property. We understand you’ve been telling people that Mr. Beaufort authorized you to use his name, his authority, to push this through.”
Barksdale visibly wilted. The carefully constructed facade of professional integrity shattered. His arrogance evaporated, replaced by raw, trembling fear.
“No! No, that’s not true!” he stammered, frantically shaking his head. “I never said Big Ray authorized it. Aunt Brenda… Brenda Dupree, she came to me. She had the idea.”
“Aunt Brenda?” Miller prompted, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Yes! She said… she said there was an old debt. A family matter. She needed the house transferred, quickly, quietly. Said the family approved it, that it was to cover an old street debt.” Barksdale was practically babbling now, desperate to shift the blame. “She brought me the papers. She told me to make it look official. She said it was for the family, to settle something owed.”
Miller watched him, his expression unreadable. “An old street debt, you say?”
“Yes! She swore it! Said the family would be grateful. I just made the paperwork official. It was her idea! All her idea!”
Barksdale was sweating, his expensive suit clinging to him. He had just confessed, not just to forging deeds, but to using Big Ray’s name and alleged authority to do it, all based on Brenda’s fabrication.
Miller exchanged a look with the other enforcer. The twist was devastating. Brenda wasn’t just a greedy aunt, or even a desperate debtor. She had brought Barksdale the fraud, implicating Big Ray’s street operation in a land grab that wasn’t theirs. Barksdale, in his cowardice, had just made himself and Brenda immense liabilities in the eyes of the street.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Barksdale,” Miller said, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “This information will be very… useful.”
He closed the folder. Barksdale knew he had crossed a line, and the consequences would be far more immediate and severe than any court would impose. The street had its own justice.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours