Chapter 5 - What Money Can Reach
Renee read the lease notice three times.
“We've never missed rent.”
Malik stood beside the kitchen table.
“Not once?”
“Not once.”
“You said we were late in March.”
“I was three days late. Paid the fee.”
The notice did not accuse them of violating the lease.
It simply stated that Banks Residential Group would not renew their tenancy when the lease expired in sixty days.
No reason was required under the month-to-month conversion clause that would begin afterward, though local housing rules still restricted discriminatory or retaliatory conduct.
Renee sat.
“Maybe they're renovating.”
Malik looked at her.
“You believe that?”
“I believe panicking before knowing facts doesn't pay rent.”
He wanted to tell her about Victor Banks.
About Jordan.
About the altered scholarship form.
Instead he said, “Jordan's dad owns the company.”
Renee went still.
“What?”
“He owns Banks Residential.”
“You sure?”
“Everybody knows the Banks Foundation.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
Malik searched online.
Victor Banks appeared smiling beside the apartment company's logo.
Renee closed her eyes.
“What happened at school?”
“Nothing.”
She gave him a look.
“Malik.”
He told her.
Not everything.
Enough.
The laughter.
The scholarship.
The altered form.
Jordan receiving his demo.
Renee listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she asked only one question.
“You steal anything?”
“No.”
“You threaten anybody?”
“No.”
“You lie?”
“No.”
“Then somebody trying to scare us should be scared they picked the wrong family.”
Malik almost smiled.
“Mom, we can't fight people with money like that.”
Renee looked directly at him.
“Money can make a fight expensive. It doesn't make wrong become right.”
At school the next morning, Malik showed Ms. Reed the lease notice.
Her expression hardened.
“This could be coincidence.”
“That's what my mother said.”
“Your mother sounds responsible.”
“She was being sarcastic.”
“So am I.”
Ms. Reed photocopied the letter.
“You need to tell her not to contact Mr. Banks alone.”
“Why?”
“Because if this is retaliation, he wants fear without witnesses.”
Malik sat.
“You really think he'd risk all that over a talent show?”
“No.”
Her answer surprised him.
“I think he might risk it over something bigger.”
Ms. Reed turned her computer screen.
The regional nomination portal displayed Jordan's submission.
COMPOSITION TITLE: NEVER FALLING.
ORIGINAL WORK BY JORDAN BANKS.
She clicked the audio.
Malik's face changed before the first eight bars finished.
It was “Stay Standing.”
Not identical.
The tempo was faster.
Piano flourishes had been added.
The lyrics were different.
But the melody was his.
The harmonic bridge was his.
Even the unusual suspended chord before the final chorus remained.
Malik rose so quickly his chair scraped backward.
“He stole it.”
Ms. Reed stopped the recording.
“I believe he used your composition without permission.”
“He stole it.”
“I understand why you want that word.”
“Because that's the word.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Malik's hands shook.
“Play it again.”
“You don't need to.”
“Play it.”
She did.
Malik listened to Jordan singing his melody with polished studio production.
The recording sounded expensive.
Drums.
Layered vocals.
Professional mixing.
Everything Malik's demo wasn't.
The theft had been dressed well.
That somehow made it more insulting.
When it ended Malik whispered, “He made my song sound rich.”
Ms. Reed looked at him.
“No.”
He turned.
“He made your song sound expensive.”
She pointed toward his battered keyboard.
“Those are not the same thing.”
A knock interrupted them.
Principal Daniel Hayes entered.
He was a broad-shouldered Black man in his early fifties whose calm public manner had made parents trust him for years.
His face was not calm now.
“Evelyn, may I speak with you?”
“You can speak in front of Malik.”
“This concerns personnel.”
“Then schedule a meeting.”
Hayes saw the computer screen.
His expression changed.
“Where did you access that?”
“The portal I am department chair of.”
“You weren't authorized to review regional submissions until Friday.”
“I wasn't authorized to approve Jordan's nomination either, yet apparently I did.”
Hayes shut the office door.
“Be careful.”
Ms. Reed stood.
“Is that advice?”
“Yes.”
“It sounded like a threat.”
Hayes glanced at Malik.
“You should return to class.”
Malik did not move.
Hayes exhaled.
“Mr. Banks has invested nearly three million dollars in this school over six years.”
Malik laughed quietly.
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not explanation.
Price.
Ms. Reed's voice chilled.
“And how much did Malik's song cost?”
Hayes looked away.
That single movement answered too much.
Malik understood then.
The principal knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Hayes lowered his voice.
“You are risking programs that serve hundreds of students over an accusation you have not proven.”
Ms. Reed replied, “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You didn't call it false.”
Silence.
The bell rang outside.
Hayes opened the door.
“We'll discuss this later.”
After he left, Malik looked at Ms. Reed.
“He knew.”
“I think so.”
“What happens now?”
She turned toward him.
“Now we stop treating this like a talent show.”
Her phone buzzed.
An email arrived.
She read it.
Her face tightened.
“What?”
Ms. Reed turned the screen.
Effective immediately, she was instructed to surrender access to the Regional Young Artists nomination portal pending an internal review of “procedural irregularities.”
Malik stared.
“They're locking you out.”
“Yes.”
“Can they do that?”
“They just did.”
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