Page 3 of The Millionaire Mortician
Shortly after, I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Like a starving kid, I then headed downstairs to see what Daija was chefing up. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw my maid, Nadia, cleaning the living room. I threw my robe around my body more because my dick was still sticking up from my morning hard-on.
When I made it into the kitchen, I saw Daija busy in front of the stove cooking. She looked beautiful as hell, with her hair wild on top of her head and her black silk pajama dress perfectly hugging her.
“You started early,” I whispered in her ear as I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind.
Daija never missed a beat in making my breakfast and dinner. That was something I appreciated.
She giggled. “Yes, I had to make sure you ate good before your big interview. Oh, and I pulled out the perfect suit for it.”
I was scheduled to go on a TV talk show that morning. It wasn’t something new to me, but it would sometimes get annoying. Still, duty called, so I answered.
“Parys called. He said another funeral home had some malfunction with their cremator and needed to use yours for today,” she informed me.
Parys was my assistant. He knew that if he couldn’t get to me immediately, he should contact Daija. Nine times out of ten, she would be able to get in touch with me before anyone else would, besides Maverick.
Without wasting a second, I found my and Parys’ text thread and shot him a message.
Me: It’s fine. Just make sure they have all the proper paperwork and they follow protocol. Keep me posted.
As I put my phone down, Daija set my plate down in front of me with a smile. “Eat up, baby.”
I did exactly what she told me to do. Within twenty minutes, my belly was full, and I was back upstairs getting ready for my interview.
In the midst of everything, I made sure to shoot Mav a text telling him to tune in. He was a pain in my ass, but my brother always supported me in everything I’ve ever done since we were born. That was my dog for life.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, nigga. Wrap this shit up. I got somethin’ I gotta do,” I told one of my soldiers.
Instead of getting to the point, muthafuckers loved to over-explain shit. I had a short patience level. Besides, I was trying to finish my runs to the trap houses, so I could go to the crib and watch Milan’s interview. I didn’t give a fuck what was going on. I wasn’t missing that shit.With his corny ass, I thought.
After I completed what I had to do, I dipped off on my right hand, Dre, and went to my spot. Milan told me the show was coming on at noon. By the time I reached home, it was 11:52 a.m...right on time. I smirked.
I plopped down on my couch and turned on the TV to the E! channel.Every time Milan did an interview, the next one wasalways on a bigger and better platform. I joked a lot about him being crazy and corny because of his career outside of what we do, but I was proud of his ass. He was great at what he did and deserved anything and everything he desired or had coming his way.
The next few minutes passed by fast as shit. Before I could blink, the show was starting, and shortly after, Milan made his entrance onto the stage. I sat back and listened to him answer all the questions professionally and on point. He was made for shit like that, although he didn’t always want the attention. I, on the other hand, would’ve eaten that shit up and be in my glee. I loved attention once it was good.
“How did it feel when you became an official millionaire? What was on your mind?” the interviewer asked.
Milan chuckled. “All I thought was that I was free. That my family and I were going to be great. Honestly, I knew it would’ve happened. Since I started studying to become a mortician, I have become aware of the benefits. Yes, I wanted to help people rest their loved ones down properly, but I also did my diligence and knew it was the right move.”
The audience clapped while I just smirked and looked on.
“So, since we’re kind of on the topic, what made you want to become a mortician?”
I sat up in my seat, leaned over, and rested both my forearms on my legs. My eyes were focused on Milan’s as if I were there in the same room.
He was quiet for a moment, as if he were thinking about what to say, then he finally spoke. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood, where seeing dead bodies was the norm. Out of nowhere, I started to have an obsession with finding out what happens to their body after the coroner picks them up. As I began my research, I became increasingly immersed in it, and here we are.” Milan raised his hands and smiled.
While he didn’t necessarily lie, he didn’t tell the whole truth. The truth was far deeper than anyone could have imagined. The truth not only scarred us, but it also shaped who we became.
Twenty-four years ago in Trinidad and Tobago...
“Doh worry yuh self. Allyuh mudda and fada will come back home. Yuh hear meh?” Uncle Lester assured Milan and me.
It had been a week since they had gone missing. Milan and I were only thirteen at the time, so the family tried to shelter us from what was really going on.
Unbeknownst to them, we knew our father was a very feared kingpin. The kids in our school knew more about our family than we did. Milan and I just never said anything to anyone. We continued to act oblivious.
When our parents went missing, we overheard our uncles and the guys that worked for them speak about it possibly being the rival gang that took them. That was the last we heard. We prayed day in and day out for their return. With so many prayers, we almost got it answered one night. Technically, we did, but not in the way we wanted.
