Blank Slate (A Series of Secrets 1)

            A few miles outside of Tampa, Florida, Layla Miles sat on a rose-colored couch in Dr. Victoria Samuelson’s office. The psychiatrist had been featured in medical journals for having an eighty-six percent success rate in helping patients recover from memory loss.            Dr. Samuelson was in her late forties and wore wire-rimmed glasses. The light in the ceiling made her short, light brown hair shine. Layla judged that she was a size eight. Dr. Samuelson looked up from her notepad. “Thank you for answering my questions. I am willing to take you on as a patient, but I need to make you aware that the longer the memory loss, or in your case amnesia, has lasted, the lower the chances are to recover your memories.”Layla nodded. “I understand.” Four years ago, she had woken in a clinic outside of New York City with no memo

            Layla was more nervous than a girl going off to college. Of course, she never went to college, so how would she know what that feels like?            Dr. Samuelson sat down across from her. “I think it’s best that we start off with your earliest memory. If we can’t get you to remember anything in the first few sessions, then we’ll graduate into hypnosis.”            “All right,” Layla said.            “I got a copy of your medical records from the clinic that treated you in New York. You were unconscious for almost a full day and then you came out of it with no memory of your life or even what your name was.”          &nb

            Two African American men approached her. The man was bald, and he had a mustache and a goatee that framed his face perfectly. He was a few inches taller than her, and he had an average frame. He gave her a polite, yet small smile. She and Damien had shaken hands with the man behind him a few minutes earlier. He had introduced himself as Hugo Mitchell. He had told them about his grandmother who died of cancer, and he and his cousin came from New York to attend the event. They were entrepreneurs and philanthropists. Hugo was a good name for the man because he was huge in height and weight. He had a round afro that looked like it has been freshly cut for the occasion. Both of their tuxes fitted them to a tee.            “Mrs. Miles,” Hugo began. “This is my cousin. Carter Mitchell.”       &nb

            A few days later . . .             The charity auction made a little over half a million dollars for the hospital’s oncology department. News about the auction being a success spread throughout the city. Layla had just got off the phone with the local homeless shelter. They asked her if she and Damien would be interested in hosting an event to raise money to help them expand their current facilities to assist more of the unfortunate. She asked to meet with the director personally to review the plans he had to revamp the shelter and its services. The meeting was on Friday. As soon as Damien walked out the door that morning to go to the office, the landline rang off the hook. The first call was from Lacey. She quickly informed Layla that the women at the Catholic Church she and Corey attended were raving about how great the chari

            Layla’s weekend was filled with more social obligations than what she was used to, but she and Damien enjoyed it. Keisha seemed to like having playmates. The Ladies Sunday Brunch at Valerie Young’s mansion had been delightful. Layla had never been in a room with so many important men’s wives in her life. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn she could smell the money in that place. Valerie had served a seven-course meal. The hostess also made it a point to introduce her to everyone there, like she was bragging that the new and upcoming social setter came to her brunch.            What really surprised Layla was Katelyn Austin being there. She knew Katelyn was well connected and popular, but she didn’t know she was so popular that she was a regular attendee of Valerie’s infamous brunches. Katelyn was just a