Page 351 of Kentrell

Flashing cameras, uniformed officers, and a sea of reporters shouting questions at him like hungry wolves.

“According to sources familiar with the ongoing investigation,” the field reporter continued, speaking live from the scene, “the arrest follows what authorities are describing as a ‘sex party gone bad.’ Emergency services were called to the upscale penthouse suite early this morning after one of the women on-site was found unresponsive. It’s being reported that she later died from a suspected overdose.”

“Diddy city…” Wani kept going, dragging out the words with that shit-eating grin he was known for.

That did it.

A couple of the guys cracked… low snickers breaking out from the corners of the room… most of them trying to mask it with throat clears and fake coughs.

My jaw tightened, just enough for me to feel it… making sure my mask didn’t slip. Not in here. Not right now.

“Nigga…” Wave snorted from beside him, both of them laughing under their breath like two bad-ass kids clowning in the back of the classroom.

And me? I just sat there. Steady. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

The reporter flipped through her notes, glancing at the camera like even she couldn’t believe she was saying this on live television.

“This arrest comes less than three weeks after Anderson’s highly publicized campaign launch, where he stood on the steps of the Cook County Courthouse and vowed to clean up corruption in the city. Anderson, whose family ties stretch deep into Chicago’s Black elite, is the grandson of former Civil Court Judge Harold Anderson… and a direct descendant of the Whitfield family dynasty.”

The broadcast shifted again—showing archival photos of Malcolm in tailored suits, standing at podiums, shaking hands with politicians.

“Oh, yeah… I knew I ain’t like him when I seen him.” Zonda added.

The screen cut to a split screen—one side still showing a cuffed, disheveled Malcolm being loaded into a squad car… the other flashing archival black-and-white images of Malcolm’s great-grandfather, Langston Whitfield, standing with former mayors and shaking hands at ribbon cuttings.

“For decades, the Whitfields have been considered pillars of Chicago’s Black political and philanthropic circles—known for funding educational programs, housing initiatives, and some of the city’s most iconic landmarks… including the Whitfield Cultural Center downtown and multiple community health clinics across the South and West Sides.”

The footage shifted back to the street-level chaos. Cameras flashing. Reporters shouting. Malcolm screaming something about ‘setting him up’ as officers pushed his head down to avoid him hitting the squad car doorframe.

“Nah, nigga, ain’t nobody setcho ass up—you was fuckin’ them hoes!” Wani spat at the screen as if Malcolm could hearhim, making some of the guys laugh, including Ayesha’s father, Ahmad.

“This latest scandal has already begun making national and international headlines, given both Anderson’s political ambitions and his family’s long-standing influence in Illinois and beyond.”

The anchor’s voice softened just slightly for the final kicker.

“We’ll continue following this developing story as it unfolds… but tonight, Chicago’s Black elite is reeling… and Anderson’s once-promising political future now hangs in the balance.”

“Man… that’s crazy,” Rashad said once the segment finally wrapped.

Kensei muttered low, just enough for those closest to hear, “Couldn’t be me…”

Wani let out a long whistle, dragging it like he didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted.

“Mans out here livin’ wilder than me…” he said, shaking his head, with Wave and Oshon chuckling right along with him like they were watching highlights of a fight night replay.

And Zoe?

Her little gasp turned into a full-blown choke…

Her breath hitched hard, hands flying up to her face, covering her mouth as tears pushed past her eyes before she could stop them.

Her daddy’s face?

Drained of all color.

While everybody else kept commenting… reacting to some part of the two news breaks we’d just sat through…

I stayed still for a second…

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