Ashes of a Good Man

Chapter 3 - The Build up

Atlanta looked different from the back seat of a private car. The skyline glittered brighter, the roads wider, the people faster.

But beneath the shine, Malik could still smell the same mixture of ambition and exhaustion, the perfume and gasoline that made the city pulse.

“Sir, we’ll be at the hotel in ten,” the driver said, glancing through the mirror. Malik nodded without looking up.

His phone screen glowed with an email from his assistant: Confirmed: Meeting with Moore Logistics Group – Thursday, 10 A.M.

He locked the phone and leaned back. Five years had turned him into something unrecognizable, a man who spoke less, observed more, and smiled only when it served a purpose.

Outside the window, the streets blurred past, Edgewood Avenue, Peachtree, Auburn. Each name scraped memory. Every corner carried ghosts. He whispered, “Full circle.”

At the hotel, the concierge greeted him by name. “Mr. Reed, welcome to the Grand Avalon. We’ve prepared your suite.”

“Appreciate it,” Malik replied smoothly. Reed, his mother’s maiden name. He wore it now like armor.

Inside the suite, he dropped his bag, loosened his tie, and walked to the window. The city lights reached toward him, unaware that one of their own had come home in disguise.

A knock at the door. Elena stepped in, tablet in hand, professional as ever. “Flight smooth?”

“Quiet enough.”

She looked around, impressed. “You really planning to stay long?”

“Depends how the meeting goes.”

She raised a brow. “You mean how the reckoning goes.”

Malik’s mouth twitched. “You learn quick.”

“I watch,” she said. “Besides, people don’t fly halfway across the country just to shake hands with the folks who ruined them.”

“Who said I’m here for revenge?”

Her gaze held his. “Your silence did.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he picked up the folder from the desk, flipped it open to the Moore family profile, company reports, financial slides, personal notes.

Tasha’s photo sat clipped to the corner: older, still beautiful, but the spark in her eyes replaced with something brittle. Elena watched him. “You sure you’re ready to see her?”

Malik traced a thumb over the picture. “She’s just a part of the file.”

“People aren’t files.”

He closed the folder. “They are when they taught you how to stop feeling.”

She sighed. “Just remember: revenge burns everything, even the hands that hold the match.”

Malik looked past her toward the city again. “That’s fine. I’ve been cold long enough.”

Two days later, Moore Logistics’ headquarters loomed like a monument to arrogance, glass façade, marble lobby, the Moore name in gold.

Malik’s reflection glided beside those letters as he walked in, calm, composed, unrecognizable. The receptionist smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Reed. Mr. Moore is expecting you.”

“Thank you.”

In the elevator, Malik caught his reflection once more: sharp suit, watch gleaming, eyes unreadable. He thought about the man who had once stood in the rain outside his own failed shop and almost didn’t recognize him.

When the elevator doors opened, Derrick Moore stood waiting. Time had softened his face but not his arrogance. “Mr. Reed,” Derrick said, extending a hand. “Pleasure.”

Malik shook it firmly, every movement calculated. “Likewise. Heard a lot about your operation.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Depends who’s talking.”

Derrick laughed, unaware. “I like you already. Come on, let’s talk numbers.”

The conference room overlooked downtown. Tasha was there, seated near the end of the table. She looked up, and for a heartbeat, time collapsed.

Her lips parted slightly; a flicker of recognition passed before reason dismissed it. “Mr. Reed,” she greeted, standing. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Mrs. Moore,” he replied evenly. “The pleasure’s mine.”

Her hand trembled almost imperceptibly when their fingers touched. “Have we, met before?”

Malik smiled politely. “I don’t believe so.”

Derrick chuckled. “My sister meets half of Atlanta, can’t keep them straight.”

Tasha forced a small laugh, eyes still studying the stranger before her. Something in his voice, in the calm beneath it, felt familiar.

Elena, sitting beside Malik, began the presentation. “Phoenix Freight Systems proposes a strategic merger, our tech infrastructure, your logistics channels. Mutually beneficial.”

As she spoke, Malik watched Tasha from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t the same woman who’d once left him in the rain.

There were faint lines near her mouth now, a stiffness in her posture, a desperation in the way she nodded at every projection Derrick pushed forward.

When Elena finished, Derrick leaned back. “Impressive. You’ve built quite an empire, Mr. Reed. Must’ve had some powerful backers.”

“Just hard work,” Malik said softly. “And remembering what not to trust.”

Derrick smirked. “Wise words.”

Tasha’s pen slipped from her fingers. It hit the table with a soft clatter. Malik reached over and handed it to her. Their eyes met again, and this time her breath caught. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

The meeting continued, but Tasha barely heard a word. The cadence of his voice, the way he paused before speaking, something inside her began piecing together a ghost she’d buried years ago.

When Derrick finally said, “Let’s schedule a follow-up,” Malik stood. “No need. You’ll have my decision by morning.”

He extended his hand once more. Derrick clasped it, still oblivious. As Malik turned to leave, Tasha’s voice stopped him. “Mr. Reed… have we truly never met?”

He paused at the door, half-turned, expression unreadable. “If we had,” he said quietly, “I doubt you’d forget it.”

Then he walked out, leaving the room thick with unease. In the parking garage, Elena fell into step beside him. “She recognized you.”

“Almost,” Malik said.

“Then why not tell her?”

He pressed the elevator button. “Because almost is where I want her, for now.”

The doors closed on their reflections, side by side, two conspirators against a city that had once buried him.