Marcus had met her through a tenant advocacy group he'd connected with in the year after he was fired when he was still trying to figure out if there was any legal avenue left worth pursuing. She'd reviewed his case. She'd told him honestly and without softening it that what he had at that point was insufficient for federal action. She'd also told him, and this was the thing he'd kept, that the pattern he'd identified was real, that she'd seen versions of it in other cities, and that these things had a way of eventually generating enough internal pressure that something cracked. You just had to be ready when it did.
He called her at 8:15. She picked up on the third ring, which meant she was already awake and already working, which was the only version of Patricia Odum that existed. Marcus Carter, she said. Not a greeting, a confirmation. I need a meeting, he said.
Today, this morning, if you can. And I'm bringing someone with me. Who? He paused for exactly one beat. Evelyn Brooks.
The silence on Patricia Odum's end lasted considerably longer than 4 seconds. Say that again, she said. Evelyn Brooks, he repeated. CEO of Brooks Urban Living, or she was as of yesterday. I'm not entirely sure what she is as of this morning.
But, she has documentation of federal fraud, racial discrimination in housing approvals going back 6 years, and financial diversion of program funds into private real estate development. She came to me. Another silence. When Patricia spoke again, her voice had shifted into the rigor Marcus recognized from the one time he'd seen her cross-examine a company attorney in a civil proceeding. Focused, precise, all the warmth compressed into pure forward motion.
How solid is the documentation? I've seen summaries, Marcus said. She has the source files on a secure drive, transaction records, internal memos, fund disbursement logs. Who else knows she has them? Nobody.
She pulled them this morning before anyone else arrived. Does the CEO know she was looking? Not yet. Probably not. But, we don't know how much time we have before that changes.
Give me 1 hour, Patricia said. My office, you know where it is. I do, Marcus. Her voice dropped slightly. This is a big room you're walking into.
I know, he said. Make sure she knows, too. He hung up. He went back to the engine bay, told his supervisor he had a family emergency, and was in his truck and moving within 6 minutes. He called Evelyn back.
Can you get to the old fourth ward in an hour? Yes, she said. I'll text you the address. Marcus. She said his name the way she'd been saying it since she stopped pretending to be someone else with a weight in it like she was aware of what it cost him every time she had to ask him for something.