Chapter 1 - The Broken Ledger
Malik stood rigid in the cramped living room, the weight of the cash biting into his palm. The thick stack of hundred-dollar bills felt dense and wrong, like bricks pulled straight from a foundation that was already rotting. Across from him, Elena gripped her own smaller bundle of folded bills, her long dark hair falling over one shoulder in a wave that hid the tightening of her jaw. The air between them tasted like copper and stale gas from the kitchen heater.
"They go to four hundred for rent," Malik said, his voice dropping into that low, flat register that always meant he was holding back a storm. "How much he pay?"
Elena raised her chin, her burgundy button-down shirt straining slightly across her chest as she narrowed her eyes. "Who?" she shot back, her tone sharp enough to carve glass.
"Your man, he live here too," Malik said, stepping closer, his black t-shirt damp with sweat despite the drafty chill of the apartment.
In the background, Marcus drifted past the hallway archway like a ghost who refused to be laid to rest. He wore his usual faded white tank top and grey sweatpants, his tall frame cutting through the dim light of the overhead bulb with an infuriating casualness. Marcus didn’t look at either of them, but his heavy footsteps on the linoleum floor vibrated right up through Malik’s soles.
Malik tracked the older man’s movement with a bitter scowl before turning his full, burning frustration back onto Elena.
"I'm paying rent and this grown man living here free?" Malik demanded, his voice rising just enough to rattle the cheap picture frames on the faux-wood wall paneling.
Elena didn't blink. She stepped forward, dropping her cash onto the coffee table with a dry slap. "Marcus ain't got it right now. You know how things are."
"Things are always like that for him," Malik spat, shaking the stack of hundred-dollar bills at her. "I'm nineteen years old working double shifts at the warehouse, breaking my back so we don't end up on the sidewalk. Where is his money going, Elena? Because it sure as hell ain't going into groceries or the electric bill."
May you like
Marcus stopped walking. He turned around slowly in the doorway, his trimmed beard catching the harsh yellow light, and reached into his sweatpants pocket to pull out a heavy, bloodstained envelope.
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