Page 3 of Faded Rhythm

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.

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