April 24th, 2:29 a.m. EST — 15 Central Park West, Upper West Side Manhattan, New York
A sleek black SUV glided to a stop in front of a luxury residential condominium, the building's polished exterior reflecting the shimmering lights of Manhattan. The night was alive with wonder, with every detail of the experience—down to the soft glow of streetlights, the gentle hum of traffic, and the refreshing night breeze infused with a hint of Central Park's foliage—evoking a sense of endless possibilities.
Loconda slid out of the front passenger seat and rushed to the opposite side of the SUV, where Tracy was leaning precariously out the window, clutching the glass as if her life depended on it.
"I'm about to puke!" Tracy shouted, her face pale.
"I got her hair!" Lovelie screamed, wrapping Tracy's locks around her fists and positioning her head further out the window.
"No, no, no!" Loconda intoned with urgency. "She is not about to throw up anywhere near my uncle's truck. Get her out of there, now!" With a swift yank at the back passenger doorknob, Tracy, Lovelie, and Dream tumbled out of the truck and onto the bustling city streets in a tangled heap.
"Damn girl," yelled the short curvaceous Jamaican Saint Rita University sophomore student-athlete Dream Montaque, brushing her knees and adjusting her dress. "Why'd you open the door so fast? Now I gotta throw up too." Clutching her purse, Dream staggered over to a trash can and began relieving herself of liquor.
"Aw, now me too!" Lovelie shouted, wobbling towards a nearby bush and unloading her stomach into the leaves.
"Out of my way!" Tracy shrieked, barreling past Loconda and diving behind a parked truck, where she heaved her night out into a curbside sewer drain.
"What a night," chuckled the driver as he stepped out of the front seat and removed his gloves. The driver was Loconda's step-uncle, Ravi Moonilal-Toussaint, an old Indo-Trinidadian with slick black hair and thick glasses, who turned back and flashed a grin. "I don't mind a little mess, Loca. You know I have a team of cleaners, and I like to keep them busy."
"Nobody enjoys cleaning up vomit Unk," Loconda replied dryly.
"But tell me this though," Ravi nudged her with a smile, "why are you the only one that's sober? Tonight, was supposed to be your celebration, wasn't it? You won a big fashion contest! You should be the drunkest one here."
"I have an exam tomorrow. I can't celebrate just yet."
"Wise choice. Oh, by the way, did you hear the news? Your father's coming into town."
"When?" Loconda asked, her voice tinged with worry. She quickly checked her phone, uncovering 15 missed calls and 312 text messages, primarily from her family's group chat.
"Tomorrow," Ravi chimed in. "I'll be picking him up at LaGuardia in a few hours for some emergency conference. They're calling it the Summit of the Americas."
"That's tomorrow!"
"Yep, but don't stress, Loca. His schedule is jam-packed with meetings. He'll be too busy to bother you. Plus, I'll make sure he knows you're in exam mode."
"Thanks Unk," Loconda said, flashing a grateful smile before darting over to shoo away a rat near Tracy's head.
5:05 a.m. EST — 15 Central Park West, New York
Loconda rushed around her spacious apartment, as she tried to prepare for class. The sleek, modern interior of her home was cluttered with the remnants of last night's celebration and the chaos of her work as a budding fashion designer. The morning light filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the living room and highlighting the meticulous details of her creations. Sketches and fabric swatches littered the coffee table, along with scattered spools of thread, needles, and pins. Three sewing machines, flanked by bolts of colorful fabrics, sat in one corner, while an army of dress forms stood proudly in another, adorned with half-finished bags and gowns.
Loconda darted into the bathroom, hastily brushing her teeth while simultaneously trying to fix her hair in the mirror. A few wayward strands refused to cooperate, but she managed to tame them with a quick spritz of hairspray. With her toothbrush still in her mouth, she rushed back to the kitchen, where a bagel was toasting. Her study notes were spread out across the counter, and she flipped through them quickly, trying to absorb as much information as possible in the few minutes she had left.
In the living room, her friends were sprawled out in various states of unconsciousness, a testament to the night before. Dream was curled up on the plush sofa, using a throw pillow as a makeshift blanket. Tracy was stretched out on an armchair, her mouth slightly open as she snored softly. Lovelie had claimed the chaise lounge, her legs dangling over the edge.
Loconda's mind raced with the day's tasks. She juggled her toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a highlighter, marking important points in her notes while waiting for the bagel to pop. The timer dinged, and she swiftly slathered cream cheese on the bagel, barely pausing to take a bite as she hurried back to her bedroom to grab her bag. Rolls of fabric leaned against her bedroom walls, fashion magazines were stacked haphazardly on every surface, and sketches were pinned to a corkboard above her desk. Her laptop, still open from a late-night design session, displayed the blueprints for her next collection.
As she pulled on her coat and glanced at the clock, Loconda felt a familiar rush of adrenaline. Yeah, she was tired and running late, but she thrived in chaos. With one last look at her sleeping friends and her messy apartment, she grabbed her keys and dashed out the door, ready to conquer the day.
7:41 a.m. EST — New York University of Arts, Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York
The classroom was a study in focused concentration. Loconda sat among her peers, each immersed in their own exam papers. Outside the occasional cough or shifting of chair, the room was dead silent. Professor Edgar Esson, a middle-aged Caucasian American man with a neatly trimmed beard and wire-framed glasses, paced methodically between the students, ensuring that all eyes remained fixed on their own tests.
Despite her fatigue, Loconda was diligently working through the exam. The early morning hours and the adrenaline rush of the fashion show were catching up with her, threatening to pull her into a slumber she couldn't afford to embrace.
Suddenly, a loud knock reverberated through the quiet classroom, startling everyone. Professor Esson glanced towards the door, momentarily breaking his vigilant stride. He stepped out briefly, leaving the room in an uneasy silence as students exchanged curious glances. When he returned, the professor was accompanied by three men. The first was Mike, a chubby campus security guard. The second was Loconda's older step-brother, Jasiah Ramdin-Toussaint, a tall, sturdy figure with a strong build and a serious demeanor. The last man, Rohan Baptiste, one of her father's favored executive protection agents. Rohan possessed a formidable stature and a calm spirit that belied his readiness for any situation.
Professor Esson cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the class back to him. "Class, this is a brief interruption. No need for concern," he announced, though the tension in the room was palpable.
Jasiah scanned the room briefly, his gaze settling on Loconda with a nod of acknowledgment.
"Miss Toussaint," Professor Esson continued, "Could you please grab your belongings and make your way to the front of the class."
Loconda slowly rose and locked eyes with her brother, her gaze unwavering as she walked to the front of the classroom. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. She could see a distinct look of disappointment etched on Jasiah's face. If he was here, it was because of their father. So, what did her father know?
***
Outside in the courtyard of a glass-covered atrium, the scene was serene yet vibrant. Tall, ancient trees cast long shadows over meticulously maintained lawns. Students lounged on benches and walked along cobblestone paths, engrossed in their conversations or lost in thought. The centerpiece of the courtyard was a grand fountain, its water shimmering in the sunlight and providing a calming melody.
Jasiah and Loconda stood a few feet from the fountain, while Rohan maintained a vigilant watch, scanning for any potential threats.
"Did Father send you?" Loconda's voice trembled with a mix of anger and fear.
Jasiah sighed, his stern expression softening. "Yes."
"How did he find out I was here?"
"The New York Tribune. And by the way, congrats on your award. You made the front page of their arts section."
"Damn, I forgot that was part of the prize. Wait, when did Dad start reading the arts section?"
"He doesn't. One of his assistants came across it this morning and showed him right away. Imagine his surprise, in front of his entire staff, learning you've been lying for an entire year. I couldn't believe it either. I had to buy a copy myself." Jasiah pulled a newspaper from his satchel, waving it. "We all thought you were in law school, but here you are, a full-time fashion design student. The betrayal, sis!"
"Come on, bro, spare me the dramatics. You know how controlling Father is. If I had told him the truth, he would've never let me leave Trini. I had to lie and hide everything. My goal was to succeed in fashion, just as he wanted me to in law, and then return to show him why this was the right decision."
"Look, Lo, I get it. And honestly, if you'd kept a lower profile, you might've pulled it off. There's no way you could've predicted Father being in town for an emergency summit, but nevertheless, here we are."
"Here we are."
"Indeed, and now Father has an answer to your decision. As of this morning, he has chosen to withdraw all financial aid from your education and lifestyle here in New York. He has terminated the lease on your apartment and hired movers to pack up your belongings to be shipped back to Trinidad."
Loconda's eyes widened in shock. "No," she muttered, more to herself than to her brother.
"Father has arranged a flight for you, me, and Rohan to travel back to Trini tonight," Jasiah continued his voice firm. "Father will return next week to discuss your actions and your future. All credit cards in his name, that are in your possession, have been suspended. For the next 24 hours, I will be your only source of income. You will remain with me until we arrive back home in Trini. This is Father's plan, do you understand?"
Loconda's shoulders slumped, the weight of the situation crushing her spirit. "Yes," she sighed, a single tear rolling down her cheek as the thought of her dream life faded from view. "I understand."