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so.”
    “How’s Max? Still ruling the roost as if he’s the one paying the rent?”
    “Afraid so. One of these days, I’m going to show him who’s boss.”
    Terri laughed. “G’night.”
    “Good night.”
    Mr. Raymond shuffled off toward his apartment, and Terri climbed two flights of stairs to the third floor. Walking down the hall, rock music from the apartment across the corridor blared so loud it rattled the door.
    “He must be deaf,” she muttered, sympathizing with the renter next to him.
    The noisy neighbor was a weird little guy with shaggy hair and beady eyes who never looked her in the face when they passed each other in the hall, always directing his gaze at the floor.
    She opened the door to her efficiency and flicked on the light in the tiny space, and the scent of tropical fruit air freshener greeted her nose. Inhaling deeply, she smiled.
    Closing the door, she shut out the neighbor’s noise. She pulled across the chain, flipped the two deadbolts—one of which she had installed when she moved in—and turned the lock in the door. Home sweet home.
    For the first time in her life, she had her own place. It wasn’t much—hardly more than four hundred square feet—but her name was on the lease. Quite a step down from the life she used to live in an upscale condo in the middle of Buckhead, an affluent district in metro Atlanta.
    Brunch at the Four Seasons on Fourteenth Street with the girlfriends of wealthy businessmen—a makeshift social club among a small group—and shopping at Lenox Square or specialty stores for the finest clothing and home furnishings had been the norm. Although she had moments when she missed that lifestyle, she didn’t miss the high cost that came with it. She lost herself, basically giving up her independence and self-esteem for a life that not only didn’t last, but made her very unhappy and ultimately hurt a lot of people.
    She was infinitely happier in her little efficiency. She paid the rent and bills here, and it felt damn good. White walls and white appliances helped to keep the small space from feeling too cramped. The off-white sofa, purchased at a second-hand furniture store, contained a punch of color from blue, striped, and red pillows. Opening the ivory curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment, she took a few steps and dropped her Gucci knock-off on the bed, which sat directly in front of a large window facing the street. The other window looked down into the parking lot.
    A five-drawer bureau took up part of the wall next to the door that led to the bathroom. On top was a collection of snow globes—six from the states she traveled through on her four-day drive from Atlanta to Washington; one from Arizona, gifted to her by Alannah; the other three came from visits to New York, Hawaii, and Los Angeles. One day she hoped to expand her collection to include globes from every state. Maybe even every country in the world.
    She turned on the lamp beside the bed and lifted the mattress to remove the white envelope stuffed with cash. She added the C-note from Gavin and wrote the date and amount on the outside of the envelope like always.
    “Six thousand, one hundred, fifty dollars.”
    She did a happy dance and shoved the money back under the mattress and dropped onto the bed. When she retrieved her phone from her purse, she flopped onto her back and dialed a number in Georgia. On the third ring, a female voice answered, and she prepared for the difficult conversation with her brother’s fiancée, Shanae.
    “Hey, it’s me,” Terri said in a deadpan voice, because being polite and friendly hadn’t worked in a long time.
    “What do you want?” Her future sister-in-law sounded annoyed, her usual tone of voice.
    “To talk to my brother,” Terri said between her teeth. “Is he in?”
    “No.”
    Terri bit back a curse at the short answer. Shanae’s attitude was a constant source of exasperation. Getting information from her always meant