Page 269 of Kentrell

I washisgirl. And in his world, in his arms, I didn’t have to earn tenderness.

It was already mine.

My phone rang just as a smile was blooming across my face.

MOM

“That was quick.” I answered on the first ring, feeling light as a feather, now.

“Yeah, teetee Zonda and Ahmad flew into Florida for a cruise and I just wanted to make sure they landed safely.” She told me as my smile dwindled into a smirk.

“The Caribbean?”

“Yeah, you know they love it out there.” My mama went on as my eyes drifted to the desk in front of me.

I was still holding the phone, curled into the office chair, mind drifting between my mother’s voice and the thought of whether Kentrell would let me talk him into going on a cruise—when I started absentmindedly opening drawers.

Not snooping. Just… curious.

Mostly receipts. A few thick pens. One drawer had a stack of leather-bound notebooks. Another held a gold money counter and a pair of sunglasses still in their case. I smiled to myself—sohim.

Then I saw it.

Tucked flat beneath a few loose papers was a single manila folder, just slightly ajar. I wasn’t going to touch it—wasn’t even thinking about it—until I caught something scribbled in small, blocky handwriting on the top corner.

“ZD”

A slip of paper was sticking out, a folded edge exposed like it had been opened, or maybe never fully tucked in to begin with. My fingers hesitated, still holding the phone against my cheek as I gently pulled it free.

“Zoe?” my mother asked. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, distracted. “I just… hold on.”

I opened the folder, expecting maybe a printout or two. What I found stopped my breath in my throat.

Inside werepages.

Dozens of them.

Documents.

Screenshots.

A printout of my résumé—notthe one on my website, but a more comprehensive one. One I’d only ever sent out to certain law firms.

Photos.

Public records.

Old articles from my time at UChicago. Copies of my internship acceptance letters. Bank statements. Security clearance documents. A file from Anderson & Hartman’s internal employee system.

Evenemails.

My head started to swim.

“What’s going on?” my mother asked again. Her voice sounded far away now. “Zoe?”

I couldn’t speak.

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