Page 82 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

I’ve met Graham a handful of times. Holiday parties, charity events. Anytime the movers and shakers of New York gettogether, I’m usually on the invite list, as I assume, is he. It was at an event for breast cancer two years ago that Marianne met Avery. I thought nothing of it at the time, but over the last year, Avery comes around more often than any of Marianne’s other guests, including people she calls her close friends. Whether they’re more than friends, I can’t even guess at. Knowing my wife the way I do, this might have been her endgame with Avery all along: get to the senator.

“They do,” I say evenly. “And my wife is quite a pit bull when it comes to her friends.”

Graham fidgets with his watch, twirling it around his wrist. “Shall we cut to the chase, then?”

“Man to man, and this goes nowhere, are you aware of the reason Avery’s filed for divorce?” I ask.

“She thinks I’m cheating on her. I kept my old apartment. Is that a fucking crime now? You of all people should know the value of real estate in this city. The market was terrible for sellers when she and I decided to move uptown. I was a county prosecutor. It wasn’t like I could afford to take the loss.”

“I understand you’re doing well for yourself now.” My effort to remain casually unbothered by this conversation results in a lean back that feels contrived and uncomfortable.

His mouth tightens. “I’ve made good investments.”

I’ll bet. Can’t hurt working in government, having an inside knowledge of when to buy and sell, not that he’d ever admit that. “Speaking of which…”

“Is this where you deliver a message to be generous to my wife in the divorce, or else?”

“More or less,” I tell him. Except that there’s so much more.

“I plan to be,” he says as the waiter appears. I order whiskey. Graham sticks with water, and I have a moment of uncertainty—whether ordering a drink makes me seem nervous or unsure of my position.

Really, I’d just like to settle my stomach, which is roiling withhow sick this situation makes me. Once the waiter walks away, I lean in and lower my voice. “You have reason to beextremelygenerous. By that I mean, whatever she asks for, you’ll give her.”

His eyes widen slightly before they narrow in a way I read as forced bravado. “Is she planning to clean me out?”

I shrug, but if Marianne has anything to say about it, the answer will most certainly be yes. “Unfortunately, it’s not just that,” I go on, anxious to get this over with.

He leans away suddenly, taking a furtive glance around the restaurant. “What the fuck is this? You’re not asking for a favor, are you?”

“I have information, which, if it were to come out, could ruin your political career.”

“So—it’s bankruptcyandruin?” His emerald eyes flash. “What kind of information?”

“A video taken by a private investigator from across the street from your other apartment.”

I’ve never seen color drain from anyone’s face so quickly. “Bullshit,” he whispers.

“This isn’t a bluff, Graham. If you want to see it, I’ll show it to you, but I’m not the only one who has access to it. I can protect the access, however, it’s going to require you to do some things that may be outside your comfort zone.”

“Let me see it.”

I close my eyes and feel the sag in my shoulders.

“It could be a fake,” he insists.

“It’s not fake,” I assure him. “And I doubt you want anyone questioning Silas about it either.”

Even his lips go pale at the mention of his lover’s name.

“Show me the fucking video.”

I do as he asks, sliding my phone to his side of the table. There’s no sound, of course, but by watching his face—the horror, when the shot zooms in on him—I feel bile rise in my throat.

Threats like this go completely against my nature. I’m a problem-solver. A numbers guy. I’m loyal to a fault—obviously—and I’m protective. Nothing about showing this man the mechanism of his doom hits any of my personal pleasure centers. I feel like shit.

His hand is shaking as he slides the phone back with the screen dark. “I’ve loved him for two years.”

I can’t care about that. I lay out the rest of the terms. “My wife is a political creature. Liberal, as I’m sure you know. You represent a lot of things that get under her skin.”

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