Seven Years Later
The anticipation built as bystanders and spectators awaited the arrival of Kane Garrett, the newest professor at Michigan State University. Three black SUVs pulled in front of the lecture hall, and cameras flashed and news reporters gathered around the trucks trying to get pictures of the former drug kingpin who had beat the system. Everyone in the state knew what Kane had done, but no prosecutors could nail him. All of the charges, of conducting a drug enterprise, conspiracy, and money laundering, never stuck to Kane and the prosecution had to settle for a tax evasion charge. Kane owned half of the property in Flint and a small mistake was made in filing his taxes. That was the only reason he stepped foot in prison seven years earlier. However, this only added to his legend and made him more polarizing and infamous. Instead of shunning him, the community embraced him even more and his legend grew each day he was gone away. Local politicians and even news stations stood behind him and called for his release, stating that he was a pillar of the community and not a criminal. While he was out, Kane spread money throughout the city freely and was a fair businessman. These good deeds came back and helped him when he needed it the most. This forty-five-year-old king had the city on his back.
Kane stepped out of the truck and as soon as his black wingtip gators hit the pavement the chatter among the crowd became complete mayhem. Reporters gaveled at the tall, dark man with a million-dollar smile. His bald head shone in the light, and his stride was graceful and confident. His crew quickly formed around him as they made their way through the crowd and toward the entrance of the hall. Microphones were everywhere and pointed at Kane as he smiled and seemed unbothered. Most reporters were asking him how an ex-con had landed a professor’s job at one of the highest-paying universities in the country. It didn’t hurt that the dean of the college was a former Flint politician and childhood friend of Kane. Speculation was running rampant. However, no one could contest that Kane was a master of business, or that he had a PhD. He was fully capable and qualified for the job. As he maneuvered through the crowd, it began to part like the Red Sea. As he made his way up the steps, Kane saw a familiar face posted against the wall. He made eye contact with the young man and then quickly focused back on the reporters hounding him.
Basil, wearing a black hoodie, leaned against the building and watched all of the chaos. He chuckled to himself, looking at the circus that was the first day of his senior year in college. He was studying business, and just by chance, he was going to be in the class of the man he had heard so much about his whole life. Basil felt nervous because all of the police were around for crowd control. What made him so uptight was the fact that he had sixty thousand dollars in his book bag from a sell he had made about thirty minutes earlier. He didn’t have time to drop the money off at his spot, so he had to bring it with him. He didn’t trust leaving it in his car so he had to do what made sense. Basil slipped through the side door, avoiding all of the ruckus, so that he could attend class. Little did he know, he would get much more than business lectures. He was about to receive the game and the rules that came with it.
* * *
No cameras, phones, or journalists were allowed in the lecture hall, so it was an intimate setting as Kane Garrett stood before ninety-five students front and center. The doors were locked and black construction paper covered the glass openings, so that no one could peek in. Kane requested this, so there would be no distractions and his lessons could be as impactful as possible. Kane looked at all of the young faces while smiling. His right-hand man, Fat Rat, stood by the door as if he was standing guard. The students were nervous and excited at the same time. They had never taken a class anything like what they were experiencing now.
Basil sat in the last row with his hoodie on as usual, trying to keep a low profile as he always did. He had managed to juggle a street hustle during three years of college and maintain a 3.0. Not bad for a fatherless black kid out of Flint. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and immediately grabbed it. He looked down and saw a message from Lil Noah. It simply read, “Half-Time.” Basil smiled and put away his phone, knowing he had a sale for a halfbrick waiting for him. “Half-time” was street lingo for a half kilo and Basil was the plug. He focused back on Kane and paid close attention. Basil was particularly interested because Kane was from his neighborhood and was everything Basil wanted to be.