Page 121 of Grown

The man publicly known as Korey Fields sold twenty million albums, toured around the world, and accumulated hundreds of millions of plays on radio and streaming services. During his rise to superstardom, he was also sued by at least four women for sexual misconduct, statutory rape, aggravated assault, unlawful restraint, and providing illegal drugs to minors in at least three different states.

We call on corporations with ties to Korey Fields’s estate to insist on protecting and believing black women by proceeding with the investigation into his illegal actions. Together, let’s end the devaluing of black girls and women.

We stand with Enchanted Jones and all the other women who have been assaulted by Korey Fields.

If you have been a victim of Korey Fields’s abuse, please reach out to our organization. You are not alone.

—Korey Anonymous

Grandma always told me the sun rises in the east, sets in the west. I settled on a bench by the East River, thinking I would watch the sun rise. But the direction on the river isn’t quite right. Still, it’s a nice place to be during my last night/morning of freedom.

Mom must be worried sick, and Daddy is probably combing the streets looking for me, their phone calls endless. But I needed a moment to think. To be still. To read that open letter over and over.I’m not alone, it says. There were others.

Except I’m the only one going to prison. For something I didn’t do, and there is nothing I can do about it. And how is it even possible for there to be so many? Korey couldn’t have been in love with all of them. He couldn’t have treated us all the same.

Could he?

I pull the crinkled note from my wallet.

Meet at 421 Broadway for a KA meeting. Friday,10 a.m.There are others.

You’re not alone.

Keeping my hoodie up, I enter a run-down office building in the thick of Chinatown, among the fruit stands and meat markets, and check the time. My phone is at five percent.

Ten a.m. The plan was to be at the police station two hours ago. But if I walk into that station, who knows if I’ll ever know the full story. I have to take this last chance. Maybe someone has information on Jessica or Richie. Something that can help me.

The hallway is full of trash bags and dusty, discarded office furniture. The door to suite 8M squeaks as I shove it open. The room is dank and dark, blinds shut tight.

“You came!”

The woman who snuck up on me at the press conference is different today. Or maybe just herself—long blond streaky hair, tattoos up her arms, and a lip piercing.

“Yeah. But I can’t stay long,” I say, weary. “I... have to turn myself in today.”

She nods. “I heard. I’m Cindy. Nice to officially meet you. This is Dawn, one of our private investigators.”

Dawn is a cinnamon-skinned woman with thin bronze dreads, muscles pulsing through her forearms.

“Nice to meet you, Enchanted.”

There is a scattering of about six women standing around the conference room, drinking coffee, nibbling on donut holes. Their chatter ceases the moment I pull back my hoodie.

“Oh, this isn’t everyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,”Dawn says. “Some people couldn’t make it to New York. Some were just plain scared.”

“They’re still scared of Korey?”

“Not just of Korey. Of the systems surrounding him too. Most are still coping with the effects from their trauma. Depression, anxiety, paranoia, insomnia, even delusions.” Cindy leads me to the coffee table. “We’ve been working with the girls for over a year. Please, help yourself! We’re about to get started.”

The stares are soul piercing.

I fix myself some tea to calm my nerves, something Grandma would do. Peppermint with honey.

“Hey.”

Her steps are so silent, just like back in the house. A quiet baby mouse.

“Amber?”