My husband put me out and kept all my assets just to hand them over to his mistress. All I have left is a worn-out debit card my father left me. I thought the balance was zero, but it ended up making the bank manager tremble with fear.

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The thick, humid heat of an Atlanta summer hit Zelica’s skin the moment she stepped out of the Uber. She had spent two weeks in a tiny, dusty town in Alabama, down in the sticks taking care of her mother, who had been critically ill. Now that her mother was stable, Zelica was returning home, longing for the comfort of her luxury penthouse and, of course, her husband, Quacy.

She dragged her small suitcase through the lobby of the Sovereign, one of the most prestigious apartment buildings in Buckhead, right in the heart of Atlanta’s wealth. A smile spread across her face when the elevator chimed on the 30th floor. She was exhausted but happy to be home.

The hallway was cool and quiet. She arrived in front of door 30A, her penthouse.