Page 53 of Man of the Year

“Geoffrey Rosenberg is an entrepreneur, a very wealthy one. Google him. I recognized him when I ran into him by accident,” I lie. If I tell her I saw him on the cover, she might think I’m after his money. “And I got a job as a cleaning lady at his house.”

“You did what?”

Ugh.That sounded bad.

“I had to make sure,” I say, trying not to sound careless or worse—like a gold digger. “You said there was another person in the hospital who was brought in with the same condition as my friend. Is her name Darla?”

“Miss Olsen, sounds like you are doing some type of amateur investigation, and, to be honest, it’s slightly unsettling.”

“Detective, I’m sure the man my friend went home with is Geoffrey Rosenberg. A hundred percent. In fact, there’s a young woman who was at a party at his house tonight who ended up at a hospital. She is…” I realize I didn’t even ask Julien her name or what hospital she was taken to.

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

I slam the steering wheel in frustration. The detective doesn’t sound like she believes me. I look in the rearview mirror—the car is still following me. When I take a ramp onto the highway, it does the same.

“And you went to that party, too?” the detective asks.

“No! Gah! Iworkat that house. I have, for three days now.”

“And how exactly did you get a job at that place?”

“By coincidence.” If I tell her that I coincidentally saved his driver’s life in Manhattan, she’ll definitely think I’m either lying or a loon.

“A coincidence,” the detective repeats.

“Yes. I know how it sounds?—”

“Is there something you are not telling me, Miss Olsen?”

Here it goes again. She talks to me like I’m trying to mislead her.

“Everything I’ve told you is true,” I say. “If you check the local hospitals, I’m sure you will find a young woman admitted several hours ago, spiked by a heavy drug.” If Julien lied, and she wasn’t taken to the hospital, I’m really screwed. The detective won’t ever trust me again.

“Anything else you want to tell me? Anything regarding your friend?” she asks.

“No. But something’s not right about the mansion I work at. Or Geoffrey Rosenberg. I think there are a lot more victims than just Cara and the girl tonight. It’s serious.”

“Miss Olsen, here’s what I suggest. You don’t go back to that house. You don’t do anything that might put you in danger. You don’t talk to anyone about it. You stay put. Right now, everything you say sounds like slander.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“Without any proof, what you are saying is a serious accusation. Considering you say the man is wealthy, this might turn against you very fast, in a way that could put you on the wrong side of the law.”

“What do you mean? My friend is a victim, and I’m trying to help!”

“Miss Olsen? There’s no need to yell at me. All I’m saying is that I want you to stay safe. Keep everything you told me to yourself. No discussing this with anyone, so you don’t tarnish a man’s reputation before we have any sort of evidence. You don’t want to be accused of stalking.”

“I’m a witness! What other evidence do you need?”

“Miss Olsen, you said he is a wealthy man. He probably has many important connections and a big business. Many people try to profit off others’ success, if you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the detective’s words sink in. Oh, and they sink in like a thousand-pound barrel.

Rich man. Connections. Business. Poor woman’s accusations. No evidence. Slander.

---