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“Hey, Parker. Let me call you back. The cops are coming my way.”

“A’ight. I’m heading over to GG now. Shit’s wrapped up here at CK, and there’s nothing else we can do until you get that estimate and the go-ahead to start building.”

“All right.”

I end the call. No sooner than I’d received the call that there was a raid on the car lot, I left the Gentleman’s Garden and rushed over to the car lot with my attorney, Frances Kay, in tow. My other attorney, Marc Silver, remained behind at the other location, wrapping things up.

I glance around as a detective places the drug-sniffing dog back into the SUV.

“Whatever they’re about to say, Zaire, I need you to keep your cool. Do not lose your temper on these assholes because we’ll drag them in the end. You understand me?” Frances asks.

I give a brief nod.

“Remember, don’t say anything unless I clear you. No matter what the threat is.”

“All right,” I mumble.

“Can you meet us downtown? We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Detective Coronado states as he walks up to me.

“You can ask me whatever you want to ask me right here. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Frances slants a gaze my way.

“Fine, if you’d like to do it here. We can do it that way,” the detective replies, sniffing.

“We’ve finished investigating here, and we have some questions that we need answers to. Would you like to answer some questions?” his partner, Detective Moton, asks.

“I’m listening,” I reply after Frances nods.

Detective Coronado reads me my rights first before they begin speaking about their investigation.

“We received a tip that drugs were being sold from this location. We set up surveillance for the last week and noticed a lot of suspicious activity happening after hours. Yesterday evening, we received another tip directing us to exactly where the drugs could be found. Mr. Knight, we secured a search warrant to search the premises. While we did not locate anything in the cars that we’ve been searching, we did find three bags of coke and one bag of heroin for an ounce each bagged up inside of a leather bag in your office,” Detective Coronado informs me.

Detective Moton stares at me when I say nothing. Leaning a little closer, too close for my comfort, he asks, “Do you know anything about it?”

“We have no statements,” Frances states. “Is my client being arrested, or is he free to go?”

Detective Coronado smirks as he undresses Frances with his eyes.

“Mr. Knight, you’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute and trafficking,” he advises. “Please place your hands behind your back.”

Frances steps away as she pulls out her phone and begins pushing buttons. I watch as she pulls the phone to her ear.

I glance back into the building and see my staff all seated in the lobby, handcuffed. Customers, other business owners, and their customers are at the edge of the lot with their cell phones held in the air, recording.

As the cuffs click into place around my wrists, Jerome, the manager from the gas station next door, hollers out, “This is bullshit! Y’all know that man has been set up.”

I look across the lot and see two cops ushering Mitch Dade, my manager, out of the building and to a car. He glances my way, shakes his head, and then allows them to place him into the back of the car.

That sets off another series of rumblings as bystanders begin to draw closer to us, almost forming a circle. Detective Coronado’s punk ass issues a command. “Back up and keep your distance.”

Another officer declares, “Don’t make us haul your asses in for obstructing our investigation.”

Everyone begins to back up, but that doesn’t stop them from voicing their opinions.

A little short, feisty, flirtatious Puerto Rican woman named Guadalupe, the bank manager from across the street, walks a little closer.

“Why y’all punk asses always out here picking on Black men, huh? I swear you bitches can’t stand to see a minority rise!” she shouts.

“Aye, yo, Lupe! We ain’t the minority, no mo’ sis. Their asses are. That’s why they’re scared as fuck of us and always trying to take us down,” another business owner declares.

Some of the other officers who are on the scene instantly rush over when they see the commotion and the growing crowd of onlookers and customers. They begin to work to control the crowd, and Coronado’s supervisor commands, “Let’s get these men out of here.”

We all know that the news media will twist things their way, but the people will get the truth out there.

“Y’all didn’t have to do this shit, though. You could’ve asked that man to meet you at the station, and he would’ve gladly gone,” Arterius, another employee from the bank, chimes in.

“They only did that shit because the news van pulled up,” another man interjects.

I glare at Detective Moton as he rests his hand on my head to help me into the backseat of the patrol car.

“Aye, don’t touch me. I can do this shit on my own. It’s not the first time, and damn sho’ won’t be the last time as long as my black ass got breath in my body,” I sneer at him.

He grabs my head and shoves me inside anyway.

“Zaire, I’ll meet you down at the station to post bail,” Frances promises.

“Frances, call Bayleigh and make sure she’s good. Let her know that I’ll be home in a little bit, and don’t fucking shed a tear,” I say.

Frances nods, heads to her car, and hops inside. She pulls out of the parking lot before the door even closes on me.

This shit is fucked up. I know my baby’s going to shit bricks. This is exactly what she was worried about. I have no idea who’s behind this, and while it’s easy to blame Essence and look her way, I don’t trust that either.

This shit is happening too easily, and it’s too convenient for it to be her. At this point, I trust nothing and no one. Maybe it is her, but most likely . . . it’s not.