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But I sent what I was supposed to send, showed up when I was supposed to show up and did my part whenever my son needed me. Prison had already taken seven years of me physically being there. I wasn’t about to willingly miss shit now that I was home.

The basement was where I spent most of my time when I wasn’t at Freckles.

Finished.

Big-ass sectional facing an eighty-five-inch TV. Full bar against one wall. Pool table. Home gym through another set of doors. Then my office tucked toward the back behind smoked glass.

That’s where me and Tyler were sitting now.

Bottle of D’USSÉ between us.

Two glasses.

And paperwork spread across my desk.

The rest of the shit Mills had dug up after I met with him earlier this week.

I had been looking at the same fucking page for almost ten minutes.

Tyler wasn’t sitting anymore.

He was pacing.

“This your brother?”

I didn’t answer.

“Lev.”

I picked up my glass.

“This your fucking brother?”

“You see the name.”

“Nah.”

Tyler snatched the paper off the desk.

“Because I need to make sure I’m reading this shit right.”

I took a sip.

He started reading again.

CONFIDENTIAL SOURCE 174.

The first report Mills showed me only told us a confidential source had given investigators information before the search.

This one told me more.

A lot fucking more.

CS-174 had been detained during an unrelated vehicle stop three days before my arrest.

The source identified my secondary storage location.

Told investigators when I was expected there.