My business partner Maya ordered $4,850 worth of vintage cognac and Wagyu steaks at an exclusive Buckhead restaurant, fully expecting me to settle the syndicate front's tab like I always did.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered it immediately, bringing it to my ear, my eyes still on Maya.
“Darius?” It was my sister Camille’s voice, tinged with a note of concern. “I’m in a car with two state troopers right now. They picked me up outside Grady Hospital. They said you arranged protective escort for me?”
A wave of relief washed over me, brief and potent.
“Are you safe, Camille?” I asked, my voice tight, forcing myself to project calm.
“Yes. We’re heading toward the northern state precinct right now. They said I’m under witness protection. What is going on?”
“I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” I said softly, glancing at Kendra. She gave me a small, reassuring nod. “Stay with the troopers. Don’t answer any calls from unknown numbers, especially not from Atlanta area codes.”
I hung up and looked at Maya. She was staring at me, realization finally washing over her eyes, stripping away the last vestiges of her confidence. The muscles in her jaw worked, a silent admission of defeat.
She had tried to use my family as leverage for three years, assuming my devotion to my sister made me weak, predictable. She thought Camille was my fatal flaw.
But I had used those three years to build relationships with every state investigator tracking her family’s syndicate operations, feeding them just enough information to keep my sister safe from being caught in the crossfire.
“You set this whole night up,” Maya whispered, her voice trembling slightly for the first time, barely a breath.
“No,” I replied, standing up from the plush velvet booth. My voice was steady, unwavering. “You set this night up when you ordered $4,850 worth of cognac on an account you didn’t own.”
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