Malik and Evelyn were listening from the living room.
“What do you want?”
“Your father had documents.”
“They're not yours.”
“I don't want all of them.”
“That's comforting.”
“I want one file.”
“No.”
“You don't know which.”
“Still no.”
Vale's voice hardened slightly.
“You think this is simple.”
“I don't think anything involving you is simple.”
“Your father believed I was responsible for everything.”
“Was he wrong?”
“About some things.”
“Which?”
Vale ignored the question.
“There were people above me then.”
“Peter Hollis?”
Silence.
That told her enough.
Vale finally said, “We should meet.”
“Federal courthouse.”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Then no meeting.”
“You want to understand what happened to your father?”
Imani stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
“He didn't die because of a stroke.”
Her heart slammed.
Everyone in the room froze.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
“His stroke was real.”
“Then don't play games.”
“But the pressure that caused it?”
Vale paused.
“Your father spent his last year being watched.”
Imani felt cold.
“By who?”
“Meet me.”
She closed her eyes.
“Where?”
“Eastside Boxing Club. Noon. Public place. Your brother can wait outside.”
“You know my brother?”
“I know plenty.”
The line ended.
Malik immediately said, “Absolutely not.”
Evelyn said, “We notify federal investigators.”
Imani nodded.
This time she did not argue.
The investigators were unhappy but saw opportunity.
Imani would wear a transmitter.
Agents would be nearby.
No weapons allowed inside.
The boxing gym had security cameras.
At 11:58, Imani entered.
Eastside Boxing Club occupied an old brick building beneath railroad tracks.
Heavy bags swung beneath fluorescent lights.
A dozen teenagers trained at the far end.
Darius Vale stood beside an empty ring.
No suit today.
Black tracksuit.
No visible bodyguards.
Imani approached.
“This your charity gym?”
“Yes.”
“Nice.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I can dislike you and appreciate clean equipment.”
Vale smiled.
“That's what I remembered.”
“What?”
“Most people either flatter me or try too hard not to.”
“You asked me here to compliment my personality?”
“No.”
He climbed onto the ring apron.
Imani remained on the floor.
Vale looked at her.
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Then come up.”
“I don't take instructions well.”
“I noticed.”
He stepped down again.
“Fine.”
They stood several feet apart.
Vale began talking.
Fifteen years earlier, his father, Leon Vale, actually controlled much of the organization.
Darius was thirty.
Ambitious.
Already involved.
But not yet in charge.
Leon paid police officers.
Port supervisors.
Politicians.
Darius handled transportation.
When Marcus Brooks started asking questions, Leon ordered surveillance.
“Did you threaten my father?”
“Yes.”
Imani's fists tightened.
Vale noticed.
“You wanted truth.”
“Continue.”
“We scared witnesses. Followed him. Sent photographs of you and Malik.”
Imani's stomach turned.
“Of us?”
“You were in the Army by then. Malik was in high school.”
She imagined Marcus opening photographs of his children.
Understanding exactly what they meant.
Vale continued.
“Your father still didn't stop.”
“That sounds like him.”
“My father wanted him killed.”
Imani's voice became quiet.
“And you?”
“I said no.”
She laughed once.
“You expect gratitude?”
“No.”
“Why did you say no?”
“Because killing a police lieutenant after he reported corruption would've brought federal attention.”
“Business decision.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn't pretend otherwise.
Vale continued.
“Peter Hollis suggested another method.”
“Destroy him publicly.”
Vale nodded.
“Leak accusations. Discredit him. Make him look unstable.”
Imani's eyes burned.
“Hollis stood beside us.”
“He was covering himself.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Eventually.”
“That caused the stroke?”
“I don't know.”
Vale looked away briefly.
“But three days before it happened, your father confronted Hollis.”
Imani stopped.
“Where?”
“Parking garage beneath city hall.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there.”
The answer changed the air.
“What happened?”
“Marcus recorded the conversation.”
Imani stared.
“Where's the recording?”
Vale smiled without warmth.
“That's the file I want.”
“You don't have it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Marcus left with it.”
“Then why would I?”
“Because he told Hollis, ‘My daughter will know what to do if you touch me.’”
Imani's throat tightened.
“He said my daughter?”
“Yes.”
Vale stepped closer.
“I've spent years wondering what he meant.”
Imani thought about the safe-deposit box.
No audio recording.
Unless it was hidden on the flash drive.
Federal technicians had not yet reviewed everything.
Vale studied her face.
“You just realized something.”
“No.”
“You're a bad liar.”
“So are you.”
Vale smiled.
Then Imani asked:
“Why tell me any of this?”
“Because Hollis is still dangerous.”
“And you're not?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Then why help me?”
Vale looked toward the teenagers training.
“My father died five years ago.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“I'm not.”
Imani waited.
Vale continued.
“Leon built the organization assuming fear could hold everything together forever.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
Darius had inherited enemies.
Investigations.
Men loyal only while money flowed.
He had spent five years trying to convert illegal money into legitimate businesses without appearing weak enough for rivals to attack.
Hollis complicated everything.
The councilman now wanted to run for mayor.
If Marcus's evidence surfaced, Hollis could expose Vale's entire past in retaliation.
“So you want the recording before Hollis finds it.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Destroy it.”
Imani laughed.
“You really thought I'd agree?”
“No.”
Vale's expression became serious.
“I thought you might agree after you understood Hollis is the man currently receiving information from inside law enforcement.”
Imani stopped smiling.
“Proof?”
Vale removed a phone.
He opened a photograph.
It showed Councilman Hollis meeting a Baltimore police captain inside a restaurant.
Date stamp: two nights earlier.
Imani recognized the captain.
Michael Grant.
He had attended Marcus's funeral too.
Her anger became almost unbearable.
Vale put the phone away.
“I don't need you to trust me.”
“Good.”
“But our interests currently overlap.”
“No.”
“They do.”
“You want to erase evidence.”
“You want to survive long enough to deliver it.”
Imani hated that he had a point.
Vale continued.
“Hollis already knows the federal meeting exists.”
“We changed the meeting.”
For the first time, Vale looked surprised.
Imani smiled.
“We're not completely stupid.”
“Good.”
She stepped closer.
“Now hear me carefully.”
Vale watched.
“If you or anyone connected to you goes near my family, my restaurant, or Lily again, I don't care how useful you think you are. Everything goes public immediately.”
Vale raised an eyebrow.
“Everything?”
“Every document. Every photograph. Every name.”
“You'd implicate your father's old colleagues too.”
“If they're dirty, yes.”
Vale stared at her for several seconds.
Then smiled.
“Marcus would be proud.”
Imani's expression became cold.
“You don't get to say his name like you knew him.”
Vale's smile disappeared.
Fair.
Imani turned toward the exit.
“Imani.”
She stopped.
“Hollis isn't afraid of prison.”
“What is he afraid of?”
Vale answered:
“Being seen for what he really is.”
Imani left.
Outside, Malik waited beside a federal agent.
He looked furious.
“How'd it go?”
Imani exhaled.
“I think the gangster may have been the second-worst person in the room.”
Malik stared.
“That does not sound good.”
It wasn't.
Because by the time they reached the safe location arranged by federal investigators, Councilman Peter Hollis had already announced a press conference for Monday morning.
The subject:
VIOLENT EXTREMISM AND THE DANGERS OF VIGILANTE JUSTICE.
And the photograph on the press release was Imani Brooks throwing Darius Vale onto the Harbor Grill floor.
Peter Hollis stood behind a podium at ten Monday morning.
American flag on one side.
City flag on the other.
Cameras in front.
Imani watched from a federal conference room.
Hollis was sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Calm voice.
The practiced expression of a man who wanted viewers to believe he had spent his entire life thinking carefully before speaking.
“The viral incident at the Harbor Grill raises serious questions,” he said.
Imani laughed bitterly.