Ashes of a Good Man

Chapter 3B – Man in The Mirror

The suite was dim when Malik returned. Atlanta’s skyline poured through the window, all glass and temptation.

Elena sat on the sofa, tablet open, numbers glowing across the screen. “They’ll call by morning,” she said without looking up. “They want the deal badly.”

Malik loosened his tie. “Good. The more desperate they are, the clearer their tells.”

“You think she suspects?”

“She felt something.” He poured a glass of water, watching the ripples tremble. “Recognition isn’t proof. Not yet.”

Elena closed the tablet. “And when it becomes proof?”

He took a slow drink. “Then the game changes.”

She leaned back, studying him. “You’ve built a whole empire just to walk into that room. Don’t let it own you.”

“It won’t.” He set down the glass. “I already lost everything once. That’s how I learned what not to worship.”

Across town, Tasha Moore sat in her office long after everyone else had gone home. The building was quiet, humming faintly with the sound of air vents and regret.

She stared at the reflection in the window, her reflection, and whispered, “It can’t be.”

She pulled up her phone, searching the name Alexander Reed. Nothing. No social profiles, no old records, no traces before three years ago. Her mother’s voice came from the doorway. “Still here? You’ll make yourself sick.”

Tasha turned. Denise Moore stood in her usual perfection, pearls at her throat, disapproval in her eyes. “Just work,” Tasha said.

“Work won’t fix what’s broken,” Denise replied, stepping inside. “You need to remarry. Someone solid. Someone with standing.”

Tasha forced a smile. “Standing doesn’t keep you warm, Mama.”

Denise sighed. “Neither does guilt.”

The door shut softly behind her, leaving Tasha alone again. She looked back at the city, at the glint of lights that seemed to blink like accusations. “Malik Carter,” she whispered. Saying his name still hurt. “What if…”

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She hesitated, then answered. “Mrs. Moore,” a man’s voice said, smooth, unfamiliar. “You met with Phoenix Freight today?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“Someone with advice. The man you met isn’t who he says he is.”

She sat up straight. “Excuse me?”

“Check your records. Five years ago, your brother signed a property seizure against a small business, Carter’s Auto. Find that contract.”

“Who is this?”

But the line was already dead. Tasha stared at the phone, her pulse quickening. The name echoed in her head, Carter’s Auto.

She opened her filing cabinet, rifling through folders until she found it: Notice of Termination – Carter’s Auto & Detail. Her brother’s signature stared back at her, inked arrogance frozen in time.

Her breath caught. She read the name again. Malik Carter. The paper slipped from her fingers. At the hotel, Malik stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear. “She got the call?”

“Yes,” came a voice on the other end, Raymond Willis, his old mentor, now quietly working behind Phoenix Freight’s legal shell. “Exactly on time. You sure this is how you want to play it?”

“She needed a reason to remember,” Malik said. “Fear always helps memory.”

“You’re walking a fine line, son.”

“I built the line,” Malik replied softly. “Now I’ll walk it.”

He ended the call and stared out at the night. The city pulsed below, traffic, noise, the low thunder of ambition. Somewhere out there, Tasha was reading the same paper he’d carried like a scar for years.

A knock at the suite door. Elena again, barefoot now, exhaustion in her posture. “You’ve been standing there for hours.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

“To what?”

“To the city. It sounds different when it owes you something.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re planning something more than a business takeover.”

He looked at her reflection in the window. “I’m planning truth. They built their lives on a lie. I’m just taking back what was mine.”

“And her?”

He hesitated. “She’ll get what she earned.”

“That doesn’t sound like the man who started over,” she said quietly.

He turned. “Maybe that man never existed.”

The next morning, Tasha walked into the office pale but composed. Derrick noticed immediately. “You look like you saw a ghost,” he said, laughing. “Long night?”

“Where’s the Carter file?” she asked.

“What file?”

“The auto shop property from five years ago. The one you signed.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Just find it.”

He opened a drawer, rummaged through papers, pulled out a thin folder, tossed it onto the desk. “There. Why the sudden interest?”

She stared at the signature again. Her voice barely above a whisper: “Because I think he’s back.”

Derrick laughed. “Who?”

She looked up slowly, eyes hard. “Malik.”

Derrick stopped laughing. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it?”

He hesitated, suddenly less certain. “You’re seeing ghosts. The man’s gone.”

Her phone buzzed again. A message this time. From: Unknown

Nice seeing you again, Tasha. Some things never die, they just change their name.

Her hand trembled. Derrick reached for the phone, but she pulled it back. “Don’t.”

He scowled. “If he’s alive”

“He’s not the same man,” she said, voice shaking. “And if he’s here, Derrick, he’s not here for me. He’s here for you.”

Back at the hotel, Malik slipped the phone into his pocket and adjusted his cufflinks. Elena watched him from across the room. “What now?” she asked.

“Now,” he said, “we see how fast a guilty man sweats.”

“Meaning?”

“I sent him a reminder,” Malik said. “The kind that keeps people up at night.”

“Derrick?”

He nodded once. “Malik…” Elena’s voice softened. “Be careful.”

He smiled faintly. “Careful doesn’t get justice.”

He walked toward the door, the city already calling him back into its rhythm. As it closed behind him, thunder cracked over Atlanta, sharp, sudden, promising storm.