Pick up a mop and go clean the latrines, kid, this range isn't for street trash, the range master sneered, shoving fifteen-year-old Malik Holloway away from the custom training rifle.
Maya and I were just about to leave for the bank, the tiny brass key secured in a pouch around her neck, when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t the usual cheerful chime. It was a firm, insistent double-rap.
I opened the door to find two Atlanta police officers standing on our porch, their uniforms crisp, their faces unsmiling.
“Malik Holloway?” the taller officer asked, his hand resting on his utility belt.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, my stomach clenching.
“We have a report here,” the other officer began, holding a clipboard. “Filed by a Mr. Marcus Holloway. Claims a break-in at Aegis Tactical’s main office. Specifically, claims corporate ledgers and financial documents were stolen from his private vault.”
My breath hitched. Maya stepped forward, her face pale. “My uncle?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the officer confirmed. “He alleges that Malik Holloway and Maya Holloway broke into the premises and removed sensitive company property. He’s requesting a full investigation and retrieval of the stolen items.”
“That’s a lie!” I exclaimed, my voice rising. “We haven’t been near Aegis Tactical!”
“We were here all day,” Maya added, her voice shaky but firm. “I was working remotely, and Malik was at school. We have witnesses, schedules.”
The officer just looked at us, his expression unchanged. “We understand that. But we have a sworn report. We need to come inside and ask some questions. And we’ll need to conduct a search.”
A search. The tiny key, the bank records Maya had uncovered—they were all here. My eyes darted to the floorboard in the hallway, where Maya had hidden the key just moments before the doorbell rang.
“Do you have a warrant?” Maya asked, stepping in front of me, her voice gaining a hint of her usual legal precision.
“We’re here to investigate a felony, ma’am,” the officer said. “We can obtain one if necessary, but we’d prefer to cooperate peacefully.”
His gaze swept over the entry hall, taking in the small, cluttered space. He seemed to be looking for something.
“You accuse us of breaking into a high-security facility?” Maya challenged, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Why would we do that? What possible motive?”
“Mr. Holloway claims you are both suffering from delusions related to your father’s death,” the officer stated, reading directly from the report. “And that you are attempting to discredit him and steal assets from the company.”
The gaslighting. Marcus wasn’t just spreading rumors, he was actively trying to get us arrested, to stop us from accessing the evidence of his fraud.
“This is harassment,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed anger. “My uncle is trying to shut us down because we’re investigating his illegal activities.”
The officers exchanged a look. “That’s a serious accusation, son,” the first officer said. “Do you have any proof of these ‘illegal activities’?”
My mind raced. The $450,000 wire transfer. The hidden key. But presenting that now, under these circumstances, might be a mistake. It could just complicate things, give Marcus more fodder.
Maya, however, was already moving. As the officers were distracted by my outburst, she took a quick step backward, her foot subtly nudging at a loose floorboard near the wall. Her hand, quick as a flash, dipped down, pressing the key into the small gap, then smoothly pushing the board back into place. It was a movement so practiced, so quick, I almost missed it.
“We are cooperating fully,” Maya said, turning back to the officers, her posture now rigid. “But we maintain our innocence. And we require legal representation before answering any questions about ‘stolen corporate ledgers’ that we know nothing about.”
The officers sighed. “Alright, ma’am. We’ll be in touch.” They handed her a card. “For now, stay in the city. Don’t leave town.”
They turned and walked back to their patrol car, leaving the air thick with tension. As soon as their car pulled away, I looked at Maya.
“The key,” I whispered.
She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s safe. For now.” She picked up her bag. “But we just lost time. Marcus is desperate. He wants us out of the way before we can check that safety deposit box, before we can show anyone those bank records.”
Her eyes were blazing with a cold fury. “He just made this personal.”
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