Page 1 of Divine Sense

PROLOGUE

• JULY •

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the officer rattled off my Miranda Rights as he tugged my wrists tightly behind me.

“Daddy, Daddy stop this! Please!” I looked over my shoulder towards Magnolia as she shook her father’s arm and felt a crushing weight in my chest as I watched the tears stream down her face. I licked the corner of my mouth and tasted the copper tang of blood as it dripped down my busted lip. I looked toward William who was standing next to his wife—she was fussing over him, trying to straighten his tie as he stared me down from the corner of the crowded room. His professionally pressed shirt now ruffled and missing a few buttons.

“It’s okay, flower. I’ll be fine,” I assured her over my shoulder as the officer behind me forcefully pushed me towards the front door of the old plantation home.

“Daddy, please!” she begged again, screaming at her father and pounding on his chest with her fist. “You don’t have to do this. Tell them the truth, tell them what happened!”

William said nothing and stood with a stoned expression, unwavering in his disdain for me. I wanted to call him a coward. I wanted to tell the officers they should be arresting him too. But I knew it would do no good. No one would believe me against him, they never do in these types of situations. So I kept my mouth shut and said nothing as I was escorted down the cracked front porch steps towards the waiting cruiser.

As they opened the backdoor of the car, Magnolia rushed out of the house and slammed the car door closed, her raven black hair flying into me as she threw her arms around my neck. Feeling her pressed against me brought me the briefest moment of peace as I breathed in her scent before a third officer pulled her off me.

“Don’t touch her!” I yelled without thinking, lunging towards the man who had a tight grip on her arm.Bad move, brother, bad, bad move.The two officers behind me slammed me into the cruiser and I felt a distinct crunch in my rib cage.

“Kolbi!” she shouted at me a few feet away from the cruiser, one officer holding her back as the other two shoved me into the back seat.

“I’ll be fine. I love you, flower.” She started to sob and I saw her fall to her knees as the police car sped down the long gravel driveway towards the main road.

I sat in silence and replayed the last nine months in my mind. My mama always taught me to mind my manners and be good so that Iwouldn’tend up in the very situation I was in. And I had listened.

Up until the point I met the girl with raven black hair and everything in my world changed forever.

1

KOLBI

November: Nine Months Earlier

Ityped a reply on my phone as the elevator took me up to my office. As the CEO and owner of Sweetgrass Security, I was often found fielding questions and making sure our clients were taken care of. Being in Charleston meant that money ran deep and the city always had something going on, which meant business was always busy. When I started my security firm after college, I had no idea how quickly it would grow.

My family thought I was crazy for even trying to break into the industry.‘Ain’t no one in this city gonna trust a Black man with their belongings or their safety,’they said. To my surprise—and theirs—people did. I never said this outloud, but part of me firmly believed that some of our most prominent clients trusted our company mostbecauseI’m Black. They take one look at me and think,‘Well, he’s the type we’re trying to keep out, so he must know what they do to get in.’I laughed about this once with a friend and told him that we upcharge for it.

I was only half kidding.

Between the time I opened the doors to Sweetgrass Security and now, it has grown to be the largest and most successful private security firm in the state of South Carolina. Over the years I’d formed important relationships with leaders around the city, meaning they contacted me first when large public events or festivals were happening. I’d gotten in with some of the wealthiest and most influential families on the peninsula and was always the first person they called if they were hosting private functions or fundraisers. I had friends in the police department and justice department, and even had the mayor’s personal phone number. Business was booming and I couldn’t be more proud.

“Mornin’boss,” my best friend and head of our high-security team, Hank, called out from his desk. I hired him earlier this summer when he came home from serving our country for eleven years. He had been one of my closest friends since we were kids, so when he told me he was finally coming home, I was more than happy to bring him on board and give him work. “How was the meeting this morning?”

“It was fine.” I pushed out a breath between pursed lips and continued reading the email on my phone as I passed his desk, heading towards my office at the end of the hall.

“Uh oh, that’s never good.‘Fine’in Kolbi talk normally means you had to work harder than you normally do to seal the deal. What happened?” He pushed from his seat and followed me into my office. I hit send on the email I was writing then tossed my phone onto my desk and unbuttoned my suit jacket. He took a seat in one of the plush chairs across from my desk and watched as I unbuttoned the sleeves of my dress shirt and rolled them above my forearms. My head felt like it was about to explode and I pinched the space between my eyes before finally sitting down at my desk.

“These people, man, they’re unlike anything else I’ve ever dealt with. I’ve heard the stories about them but they don’t do this family justice.” I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair. My eyes found the ceiling as I recounted the meeting I had just come back from.

The Sinclairs were one of the city’s wealthiest families and also one of the oldest. Their roots trace back to early colonialism and they weren’t shy about making their heritage known. They were old money, held deeply Southern values, and were proud to be an original Charlestonian family. Their old plantation home, with its hundred-year-old Willow trees draped in Spanish Moss, made it clear that they had no shortage of money, power, or prestige. William Sinclair, the head of the family and local celebrity, had recently announced his bid for the state senate seat during the following year’s election.

The family secretary contacted me a week ago about coming to meet with the family about a potential business relationship. I was told that William was looking for security for his family while they went to rallies and hosted public functions. Having strong relationships with many of Charleston’s finest, I had an idea of what to expect when meeting them for the first time. Sure, the stories people told about the family didn’t paint them in the best light, but I wasn’t going to turn down a business deal based purely on cocktail hour gossip. Little did I know everything I’d heard people say about them had been true.

“You’re going to have to explain, Kolb. What do you mean they’re unlike anything you’ve ever dealt with?” my friend questioned, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked at him and shook my head.

“I knew they had money. Shit, I’ve worked with plenty of people with money. But these people, they havemoney.Old money, deep money. Money that I’m sure was used to do some pretty awful things back in the day. It was unreal. They hada butler open a door and I’m pretty sure the butler had a butler. At least fifteen staff members were hustling around doing various jobs. Cleaning, cooking, fluffing the pillows, dusting the paintings on the wall. The weird thing, though, is it’s just Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair and their daughter, so I don’t even know why they need all that help. It’s like they have them just because they can.” The sheer number of people running around a house that only held three residents was something I couldn’t get over.

Hank started laughing from his chair. “Dude,youhave money. A lot of money, ‘deep money,’ as you say. I don’t get why they’re so different from you?”

“I don’t know, brother, it was just something else being in that house. There was something about it that made me uneasy. I met with William and his wife, Susan, and they were cordial enough. Susan asked nothing short of a million questions.” I rolled my eyes recounting the ridiculousness of some of her questions like what my family background was and if I had ever been shot.

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