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I heard someone crying behind me and knew that it was my mother. As I turned around, she crumpled in my father’s arms, shaking. But what caught me off guard was who was sitting across the aisle.
I’d seen Fabe and Aaliyah together in court before. But this time was different. He had his arm around her with his hand rubbing her shoulders. They were intimately close. When Aaliyah noticed me watching, she actually let a slow, taunting grin that made my blood boil spread on her face and then laid her head on Fabe’s shoulder, cozy like she wanted me to see how much she loved that nigga.
Fabe stared right back at me, like he wanted me to know he hated me. And sitting behind them were Solae’s parents, glaring at me like they wished I’d rot in hell before I even made it to Stateville.
Everybody, people I broke bread with, people I fed, had turned on me.
Aaliyah was a hoe for real, and Fabe was a disloyal snake that thought he could fill my shoes. It was cool, though. He could have her. She was never worth shit anyway.
And Solae was probably smiling somewhere too, knowing I was locked up. She only got a damn year for trying to kill me, and somehow, I’m the villain? It wasn’t fair. I hoped her time inside ruined her and made the kids hate her when she got out. She deserved that much.
They cuffed me right there in front of all of them, but I kept my head high. They could glare all they wanted. I’d make them remember I was the one they shouldn’t have crossed, and the prison walls wouldn’t stop me.
MOSES
The studio had become like my second home or sanctuary. Now that I had this second chance at freedom, I wasn’t wasting it. The studio had become the only place I felt safe, like I was at home. It was like therapy or prayer.
As Ill One sat behind the board, his face was lit by the glow of the monitors. He was tweaking the EQ on a bassline that hit low enough to rattle my ribs. I had my notebook open and pen tapping against the page in rhythm with the beat as I scribbled lines. Every word had to mean something now. Every bar had to prove I wasn’t just lucky to get this opportunity; me and my family had earned whatever would come from this through sacrifice.
Trent sat on the couch behind me with his big headphones as he watched his favorite show on his tablet. Even though he was deep in Paw Patrol, sometimes he would take off his headphones and vibe to the beat. He would even mumble one of my hooks under his breath, and it made me smile.
I’d promised myself that whatever happened with thissudden fame and attention, family would always come first. I wasn’t gonna have Kahlani home alone or feeling like a single mother while I chased a dream. If it was possible, Trent and Kahlani would be with me everywhere I went.
Ill One turned around, adjusting his fitted over his eyes. “This beat almost where we want it, bro. Once you lay them verses, I’ll polish the mix, and we’ll start shaping the final master.”
I nodded, scribbling another line. “Bet. I’m still writing. This one gotta hit different.”
Ill One smirked. “Every time you say that, we end up with something crazy.”
I felt so much pressure to make this record go harder than the last. “Songs of Moses” had gone beyond Chicago. It was everywhere now. I was getting tagged in videos from Atlanta, Houston, even New York. Famous influencers were quoting my lyrics in captions, women were using the hook over their TikToks. It was surreal. Sometimes I’d scroll through the comments just to make sure this was really happening.
Suddenly, the door to the studio swung open, and Eli walked in with a big grin on his face and his dark shades still on indoors.
“Yo!” I laughed. “What the hell you doing here? Ain’t you supposed to be on the other side of the country?”
He dropped his duffle bag and spread his arms. “Surprise!”
Laughing, I stood and shook up with him. “What you doin’ here?”
“Your boy quit his job, packed his bags, and flew in this morning!”
I blinked, trying to process it, as Ill One looked back at him with a questioning glare.
“You quit your job?” I repeated.
Grinning, he nodded.
“At Interscope?” Ill One pressed.
“Hell yeah,” he answered, grinning wider. Then he told me, “I’m your new manager, bro.”
I stared at him for a second as I sat down in my seat. Then I cracked up. “Man, if you don’t stop playin’—”
“I’m serious!” he interrupted. “I already hit a few connects. I got you lined up for a couple local podcasts this week.” Eli was grinning, but this time it wasn’t goofy, it was confident, like he’d been waiting to drop this on me. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and said, “Bro, you need somebody in your corner that knows the business.”
I raised an eyebrow, still half-laughing in disbelief.
Despite me feeling honored that Eli would even be willing to play this role, he felt the need to continue to convince me. “I been behind the scenes scouting talent, sitting in label meetings, and watching how they move. I’ve seen how they build artists up just to shelf ’em when the next trend hits. You don’t need that. You already got the music, the story, and the movement. All you need now is strategy, and that’s where I come in.” He sat down across from me, leaning forward. “You need somebody that can navigate the calls, interviews, and budgets. Somebody that’ll make sure you don’t get played.”
