Page 167 of Shâhzâdeh

“Why do they call you Eight?” I knew of sports but I didn’t know sports.

The sad smile was back on his face and he pointed to one of the tattoos on his arm. “Play on words from way back. I was number three when I was in the peewee league. It was the only time that our parents got to watch me play. Daddy called me ate ‘cause that’s how it looked when you put it up on the screen-AT3. They died and that shit hurt me to think about them never seeing me play again. So I held onto the name in their memory. I ain’t like people in my business so I just started wearing the number eight so they wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“Damn, that’s deep. But why do you think that people would ask questions?”

He pointed to the bar that had the stools from the pervious owner. We made our way to sit and he held out the chair for me to climb in. Ahmad rest his hands on the counter and faced me. “Folks like to make you the sad black boy all the time. Press you about your personal life and push a narrative. They tried to say that the stuff that happened with us was gang affiliated or a drug deal gone wrong. They would bring it up all the time like they would get some kinda sound bite to confirm what people assumed. Our uncle would always try to play up the situation for his own clout that he couldn’t get off making a name for himself.”

“That’s sad.”

He gave me a half smile and I could see the hurt in his big brown eyes. “It was. I’m all for you making your own judgment with them, but I don’t keep in contact. You’re more than welcome to judge them for yourself.”

“Are they moochers or?”

He nodded at my quick and correct assessment. “Thieves too. Tried to help a few out because I was grateful that they stepped up when our people died. I found out how they blew through the bread that was supposed to be used for my care and confronted them. They said it was because they knew I was going to make it so it wasn’t a big deal. Money that was supposed to basically be support they used to ensure they were good instead. Basketball wasn’t a guarantee but they tried to say that was the reason they spent it. It wasn’t, they were greedy and couldn’t help the temptation. I was thankful there was still money in trust for me, but now that you’re back they need to run you your money.”

“What happened with the people you helped? In the family, I mean?”

“I tried to front money for businesses, help people go to school. It was pointless. Folks really gotta earn some shit in order for them to realize what it takes to enjoy money. That teach a man to fish lesson ain’t no joke. I promise when I have kids, I’ll make sure they’re good but I’m not handing over piles of money if you ain’t got the mindset to grow it for the next generation. Acting like these IG influencers and blowing money to impress people who don’t mean shit. American culture is fucked and I refuse to buy into it, literally.”

“Seems like you went through a lot of the same shit just like I did but in a different way.”

He nodded slowly as though he realized how parallel our lives had been. “Yeah well, call your husband after we sign the paperwork on this house and we can break bread so we can talk about all this. I got a feeling I’mma wanna be in the mix for a lot of stuff coming up.”

“How you want to sign the paperwork on a house you didn’t even tour yet?”

He glanced around the large, open concept great room and gourmet kitchen before turning back to me. “I trust you?”

I hopped up from where I was sitting at the bar shaking my head. “Hell nah. You were just talking about relatives mooching off of you and not doing any work. We about to walk every inch of this house. You not about to be talking shit about me to Vincent like I don’t know how to do my job.”

He waved me off but I wasn’t about to play with his money. “It ain’t even like that, Vee. I know you good.”

I clapped my hands and waved for him to get up so we could get down to business. “Yeah well I ain’t taking chances. Come on so we can walk through this place. You wanted me to do my job we about to do it. I’m about to earn every damn dime of this 1% commission.”

His brows dipped, and I could already hear him fussing at me. “One percent? Who the hell agreed to that?”

“We didn’t agree to anything yet. You had the paperwork but you never signed on as a client. I’m giving you a family discount.” I shrugged because I wasn’t going to take a penny more than that.

Ahmad stood up and I could see he was irritated. “Hell nah that shit is bogus as hell.”

“She not about to change her mind.” Quentin tried to tell him but there was no reasoning with him.

“She ain’t gone have a choice. That check gone be cut no matter what.”

“Between this penthouse being almost three million and whatever property you are potentially looking to buy, we are looking at six to ten million dollars.”

“Okay? My place in New York is listed for fifteen. I ain’t even gotta come off any bread to buy two houses down here. The people up there getting paid full price but you think I’m going to short my sister? For one percent? Nah, I told you that being a spoiled brat was absolutely gonna happen so I need you to get used to it.” Ahmad looked like this was truly non-negotiable and that he was irritated by my discount.

“One percent is still ninety thousand dollars.”

“Cool, we’ll multiply that by five or ten and call it child support or whatever.” He shrugged, like giving me a million dollars on a sale was no big deal. That was as much as I’d made all of last year.

“You do realize I’m not your kid.”

“Kid, bratty kid sister, same shit. You won’t take it. I’ll send it to your husband. So let’s go ahead and see this place. Since you wouldn’t sell me your penthouse in the apartment complex I gotta live here.”

“Why you playing around, Xerx might buy this shit just so you not bothered.” I wanted Quentin to shut the hell up even though I knew he wasn’t wrong.

Ahmad’s brows shot up and he grinned at me playfully. “He doing it like that?”

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