Page 2 of Faded Rhythm

Sable

Hump day.

Who came up with that?

I hate Wednesdays, because that little colloquialism always reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve been humped.

“Rae. Kelice. Let’s go!”

No time for breakfast this morning, because my two little monsters overslept. I grab two bananas and a two-pack of strawberry pop tarts and head toward the garage, my eyes darting on instinct.

I forgot Brett’s not here this morning to scold me about feeding his daughters processed trash.

“Y’all have two minutes! I’m serious!” I yell, but they’re probably laughing at me up there. I’m not really a yeller. I can do the look, though. All black mamas can. I fix one on my face so they can see it when they get to the bottom of the stairs.

Sure enough, Kelice stops in her tracks when she sees me.

“Sorry, Mommy,” she rushes out as she tucks her blouse into the waistband of her plaid skirt.

“Mm hm. Where’s your sister?”

Rae runs down, her tiny backpack bouncing against her shoulders as she races toward me.

“This is breakfast,” I say, handing them their fruit and garbage. I almost say, don’t tell your daddy , but I stop myself. I no longer give two shits what that man has to say about anything.

The girls giggle as they race each other to the car, and I smile, because they’re both light—not physically, but emotionally. No burdens. No worries. I can’t remember the last time I felt light.

Once I drop them off at school, I head east toward downtown. It’s Atlanta, so I settle in for a long drive. If Brett wonders why I was out longer than I usually am in the mornings, I’ll tell him I went to the spa.

He checks the cameras every day. Monitors the alarm system, too. When it’s armed, when it’s disarmed, who came to the door, who exited the door.

Sometimes I wonder if that state-of-the-art security system is for keeping outsiders out, or me inside.

It all sounds worse than it really is, I guess, but I’m not sure normal husbands do these things. I’m not sure I even know what normal is anymore.

I arrive at Southern Trust Bank forty minutes later.

It’s large, covered in beige marble, and has heavy glass doors that I had to strain to open.

Inside, it’s cold, but it smells like money.

I reach into my purse and pull out the little brass key I found in the little secret compartment in Brett’s jewelry drawer.

I took it a week ago when he was in Houston for a conference.

Or a “conference.” I’m never sure anymore, but I no longer care.

“I need to get into a safe deposit box,” I tell the smiling personal banker when she comes out to greet me.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says. “And just to verify, you are an authorized user on the box?”

I swallow hard. She’s still smiling, but it’s tight like she knows I’m about to ask her for a favor. She kind of reminds me of me when I was younger—cute, black, trusting, just trying to do my job.

“I’m not,” I say.

Her face falls. “Ma’am, I cannot allow access to anyone who’s not listed on the lease agreement.”

I nod, smiling politely. “I thought you’d say that.” I hold up the key. “This is my husband’s. He knows I’m here. You can even call him if you want.”

She shakes her head. “Ma’am, I literally cannot—“

“Are there cameras right here, where we’re standing?” I say, my eyes drifting up.

“No…” she trails off, a frown on her face now. “What are you—“

“Here.” I pull it out quickly and press it into her hand. “I really, really need to get into that box.”

She stares down at the wad of cash in her hands. I can feel her hesitation, her internal debate. It’s a thousand, you can tell by eyeballing it.

“Ma’am.”

“I need to know if he’s cheating,” I lie. “He’s powerful and he could take everything I have. My two daughters…” I trail off, pretending to choke up. “Please. I won’t take anything out. I just need proof. You can watch me.”

She takes a deep breath. “Ma’am. I can’t.”

I pull out the next wad, pressing it more firmly this time. “Now you have five,” I say, saving her the trouble of counting it.

Her eyes widen just for a moment before she tucks the money into her pocket.

“Follow me.”

She leads me into her office, where she pulls up the account information for Mr. Brett Graves.

She checks my ID to make sure I’m really Mrs. Brett Graves, then she leads me to the vault.

We move quickly, because she’s nervous and I’m eager.

The box goes on the table, then she leaves me alone without another word.

Good.

He might be cheating, but that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here because I’m divorcing my husband, and knowing him the way I do, it’s not gonna be pretty. It’s gonna be war, and wars are won by preparation.

I need to know what, if anything, he’s hiding.

My hand shakes slightly as I lift the lid, my breath hitching when I see what’s inside.

Small stacks of cash, neatly banded. Unlabeled flash drives. Two burner phones. A thick Manila envelope with no writing on it. A diamond necklace. Platinum chain.

I don’t care about the jewelry. I have plenty of jewelry. It’s the other stuff that intrigues me.

I lift the envelope out first. As I flip through its contents, I nod slowly.

I was right. He’s already hiding money. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. I don’t understand all of it, but I’m seeing enough to know I was right—when I file for divorce, he’ll make sure I walk away with nothing.

My stomach tightens.

Brett Graves isn’t the man the city sees out here on the Atlanta gala circuit. The real estate mogul in the bespoke suit flashing smiles and doling out campaign donations. He’s his father’s son, and Bobby Graves, who everyone calls Dime, is a lowdown dirty snake.

My daddy used to tell me that, but he stayed friends and business partners with Dime anyway. I never understood that.

Then again, there was a lot I never understood about my daddy. Including his death.

I pull out my phone and take pictures of the documents, then return them to their place. I’m stuck. Brett will notice if I take something. Except maybe…I count quickly in my head. There are six flash drives. He won’t notice if one is missing.

I think.

I hope.

I drop it into my purse and close the box. Just outside the door, my poor bribery victim pokes her head in. I nod, and together, we secure it back in its place.

Back in the car, I sigh and close my eyes.

I don’t even know where to start. With an attorney, obviously, but I already know that’ll be the start of something big.

Something that will change my life and my girls’ lives.

And worse, as soon as Brett finds out, I’ll have to go on the offense. The man will not fight fair with me.

Just before I pull off, I check my rearview mirror. I could swear I’ve seen that black SUV before. Yesterday. Maybe the day before, too. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe all the secrecy is messing with my head.

I pull off and head back to the west side. There’s dinner to prepare. Laundry to fold. And a husband to leave. I just have to do this right so he never sees it coming.

But I have this feeling, way down in my bones, that something’s coming for me first.