Page 32 of Tag
Her eyes welled. “That’s not true.”
“But it felt true,” I said, voice breaking. “Every birthday. Every time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see you there.”
“I watched over you. I swear it.”
“You watched me suffer,” I snapped, my tears falling freely now. “You watched me become a cop. Get shot. Fall apart. And younevercame. Thank God my brother found me.”
She closed her eyes, and the sound she made wasn’t a sob—it was a wound reopening.
“I thought I was protecting you,” she rasped. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d live.”
Faron turned slowly. “We didn’t live. We survived. And we did it thinking we were orphans.”
She looked at him, guilt written deep across her features. “I never stopped loving you.”
He didn’t move. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
We sat in the silence that followed—full of every unspoken word we’d buried for decades.
Then Tag cleared his throat and pulled the flash drive from his pocket. “You ready to see what she risked everything for?”
I nodded.
He slid it into the laptop on the table. Files popped up instantly—organized, labeled, dated.
Transactions. Photos. Flight manifests. Shelter applications red-flagged with codes.
And then a folder labeled“VIP NETWORK.”
Tag opened it.
My blood turned to ice.
At the top of the list:
Franklin Graves.
CEO. Billionaire. Public philanthropist. Children’s Foundation sponsor.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “He funds the city’s Safe Haven program.”
Faron’s voice was quiet but deadly. “He’s one of the biggest donors to the LAPD youth protection fund. He is one of the biggest donors for the rec centers.”
My stomach lurched. “He’s been hiding in plain sight.”
“And he’s protected,” Tag said. “Politically. Financially. Legally. This doesn’t take him down—it paints a target on our backs.”
I stood slowly.
Not shaking anymore.
Not crying.
Focused.
Sharp.
“He doesn’t get to stay hidden. Not now. Not after everything.”
