The conflict I can’t write about
Why I Haven’t Dug Deeper
(Not for print. Not for Voughn. Not for anyone.)
It’s starting to get to me.
The constant split.
The mental toll of standing in a room full of people you care about, knowing they’re involved in things you don’t want anything to do with.
I don’t want to be part of criminal activity.
I never did. That was never the plan.
But somehow, every path around me leads back to it.
It’s not strangers anymore. It’s coworkers.
It’s people who laugh with me over coffee.
It’s people who show up for shifts and complain about long hours and share food during breaks.
And then, later that night, they’re somewhere else.
Doing something else.
Something I know I should look into.
And I don’t.
Because they’re “friends.”
Or at least, something close enough to that word to make it complicated.
I tell myself I’m being strategic.
That waiting is smarter than rushing.
That observing from the edges is better than burning bridges.
But if I’m honest…
I stop myself.
Every time I feel that instinct to dig.
Every time I catch a thread that could unravel something bigger.
I cut it.
Because I don’t want to see what’s at the end.
I think about BGC.
About Luca. About Sonny. George. Jimmy.
None of them. Not one.
Have I truly investigated.
Not deeply. Not thoroughly.
Not the way I would if they were anyone else.
Even when I know they’re guilty in some capacity.
Even when the evidence practically sits in front of me.
I look away.
That’s the heaviest part.
Not the danger. Not the bats. Not the chaos.
It’s knowing I am choosing not to know.
I came here to build something on my own.
To prove I don’t need anyone.
To prove I can survive without family influence.
And now I’m tethered to people whose lives pull in directions that conflict with everything I claim to stand for.
If Voughn is meant to be credible…
If I am meant to be credible…
How long can I stand in the middle like this?
Too clean for crime. Too attached to expose it.
It’s exhausting.
The constant mental math.
If I distance myself, I lose access.
If I stay, I compromise myself.
If I dig, I hurt people.
If I don’t, I betray my own principles.
There is no clean option.
I thought this would be easier.
I thought navigating corruption would feel like a puzzle.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like erosion.
Slow. Constant.
Quiet.
I don’t know how long I can keep balancing like this.
At some point, something will give.
And I don’t know if it will be my career.
Or my relationships.
Or my sense of who I am.
Maybe distancing myself is inevitable.
Maybe it’s necessary.
Because this version of in-between isn’t sustainable.
And the longer I pretend it is…
The harder it’s going to hurt when it breaks.
— V.
