After my husband threw me out of the house after our divorce, I took the old bank card my father had left behind and used it at a branch in the U.S., sending the whole bank lobby into a stir as the staff hurriedly called the manager over, and the words “Look at the name on this account!” revealed a family secret I had never known.

“I know a name,” he said. “They nickname him ‘the Cleaner.’ Very expensive, very cold. His name is Seeku.”

“Good,” Zelica said. “Give me the money, book me the hotel, and organize my meeting with Seek.”

Zelica didn’t stay at the hotel Mr. Zuberi booked. That was her first step—never being predictable.

After taking a considerable amount of cash, enough to make her dizzy if it had been yesterday, she bought a new phone, a new number, and several sets of simple but clean clothes at a nearby mall. Then she booked a room at the St. Regis, one of the most luxurious hotels in Atlanta, under a fake name.

For twenty-four hours, she locked herself in the room. She ordered room service, ate her first decent meal, took a hot bath, and slept. She let her brain process the destruction and rebirth in a single day.

The next morning, she didn’t call Seek. She knew someone like him wouldn’t be impressed with a phone call.