Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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The car ride from Ricardo's office was quiet. The twins had fallen asleep in their seats, and the hum of the engine gave my mind just enough space to spiral into thought.
Something about Ricardo didn't sit right with me.
He was calm — too calm. Too prepared. Like he'd been waiting for something like this to happen.
I glanced over at Aunty Suzan, who was focused on the road like she was following memories instead of traffic signs.
"Aunty..." I said, adjusting Christian's blanket. "Mi can ask yuh something?"
She glanced at me briefly. "Talk."
"Ricardo. Wah really him position inna di family? Like... di business, di company — a really Chris one hundred percent own it?"
She chuckled. "Yuh just now a realize?"
"Mi serious."
She sighed and pulled into the driveway. When we got inside and settled, she went straight for the kitchen, brewing tea like she needed the warmth to talk. I followed her to the back veranda, the twilight casting shadows across her face.
"Everything weh Chris have," she started, "come straight from him father. Mi husband. Mr. Whyte — di original don. A him build all a dis. Start from sell weed pon di roadside, back inna di day. Di man never shame fi hustle. Then him link wid some big head from overseas, turn it into proper business — shipping, real estate, tech investments, yuh name it."
I nodded slowly. "But di rest a di family?"
She sucked her teeth. "Dem never help build nuttin. All when we a sleep inna van and run from police, dem laugh. Seh we mad. Seh we disgrace. Then when him mek it big, dem come crawling back. Ricardo included. But Mr. Whyte did firm. Him seh only him real bloodline — mi and Chris — get full access. Mi help behind di scenes, but di company can only pass to a man. A Chris get everything."
My eyebrows lifted. "So Ricardo..."
"Him work fi di company, yes. Him play big man, yes. But legally? Him own nothing."
I went silent for a moment. "So how yuh deal wid that? Yuh never feel like yuh deserve more?"
She smirked, her eyes gleaming. "Mi? Mi nuh need title. Mi run di street side a di empire. Di dirty work — revenge, hits, silencing people weh talk too loud. Mi find joy in it."
I stared at her. The woman who cooked porridge for my babies also talked about carrying out hits like she was describing a hobby.
And Ricardo? Parading as the face of the empire but holding nothing real in his hand?
Now the pieces started to shift.
What if this wasn't just about Chris being framed?
What if it was about taking back something Ricardo felt entitled to... but was never his?
***************
It was finally the day to go to court.
Not even the morning breeze felt right. There was a weight in the air that pressed down on my chest and made breathing feel like work. Everything outside moved slow—like the world was watching us from behind glass, just waiting to see how far we would fall.
I stepped out the car, holding my purse tight, heels tapping across the pavement like gunshots. I stepped out the car, holding my purse tight, heels tapping across the pavement like gunshots. Aunty Suzan pulled up beside me in the black Prado, dressed sharp in a fitted navy pantsuit, shades perched on her face. She didn't speak when I got in — just nodded. We both knew this wasn't the time for talking.
Half-Way-Tree courthouse stood tall before us—grey, cold, impersonal. It was the kind of building that could swallow a man whole and never remember his name.
Outside, reporters lingered, cameras slung around their necks like weapons, eyes sharp with hunger.
We walked past them like ghosts.
Inside, the halls were too clean. Too quiet. Like everything was waiting for something terrible to happen.
Ricardo met us at the courtroom entrance.
"Ladies," he greeted, voice smooth like polished stone. "Everything deh in place. Courtroom five."
"Mek sure a dat yuh a do," Aunty Suzan muttered under her breath.
Ricardo chuckled low, like her comment bounced right off him. "Mi always deliver, Suzan. Trust mi."
I stayed quiet.
We walked into the courtroom together. It was cold. Dead silent. The echo of footsteps bounced off the walls like warnings. The benches were mostly empty—just a few old faces and strangers who came fi see 'Fada Whyte' get humbled.
Then Chris entered.
He was in khaki remand clothes, handcuffed, face calm but eyes sharp.
His eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine.
He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just stared.
Like he knew, too.
Ricardo walked to his side, resting a hand on Chris's shoulder like everything was under control. But Chris didn't move. Didn't lean in. He just watched Ricardo—hard.
The judge entered. Court began.
The prosecutor stood up, voice firm. "Your Honour, the State intends to proceed with a murder charge against Mr. Christopher Whyte, concerning the fatal stabbing of Nicole Hemmings. The murder weapon was recovered in the defendant's vehicle. We also have a witness placing him at the scene shortly before the incident."
I looked at Ricardo.
Any second now, I thought.
Now yuh supposed to shut that down.
Now yuh supposed to mention the evidence yuh say yuh had. The security footage. The flaws in the story. The setup.
But he didn't.
Ricardo just stood calmly and buttoned his blazer before speaking.
"M'lud," he said. "The defense is aware of the evidence presented. We will not be contesting the charge at this time and are prepared to move forward to trial."
Mi heart stopped.
"What?" I breathed.
Chris's brow furrowed. He turned sharply to Ricardo. "Uncle? Wah yuh mean? Mi thought yuh did—Uncle, yuh tell mi seh yuh have tings. Yuh tell mi seh yuh did find out—"
Ricardo placed a hand on Chris's arm.
"Chris," he said softly. "Mi haffi move careful. Evidence get... complicated. People back out. Ting disappear. Yuh cyan rush court wid weak defense."
He didn't look him in the eye.
The judge didn't wait.
"Remanded in custody. Bail denied. Next hearing set in four weeks."
Gavel dropped.
Chris clenched his fists. His whole body tensed, but he didn't say a word. The officers came and led him away. He looked at me one last time. No anger. Just a dull ache behind his eyes.
And Ricardo?
He calmly packed up his files and leaned in close to Aunty Suzan and me.
"Sometimes di truth tek time fi come out," he whispered. "But it always come."
