Vera Kincaid had everything to live for. She was smart, beautiful, wealthy—the protected wife of a powerful preacher man. But as we all know, lovely wives often have dark secrets. When she was shot dead, folks said it was a secret love that killed her.
Well, you know I couldn't let that stand.
They say you shouldn't ask a question if you can't bear the answer. In this case, the truth proved ugly.
Vera was trapped. Living with a secret no respectable man could confess and no loyal woman could survive.
Caught between a husband she loved and a church that fed on hypocrisy.
Caught between a brother who loved communism as much as he loved his Jamaican sister—and believed she had betrayed herself, her people and her very own nature.
Pressed by a blackmailer with little mercy and a loan shark with even less.
Lost in a maze where every exit demanded blood.
To this day, I still wonder who truly killed my friend Vera. Was it the triggerman? The blackmailer? Or the society that made a hidden life necessary?
In the end, I was left with one hard question: would the truth serve justice—or merely destroy the already wounded?
