Page 65 of Man of the Year

And that makes this discovery even more jarring—it looks like Geoffrey Rosenberg is a ghost…

FIFTY

ANONYMOUS

A massage? Really? If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were just like Darla. That girl decided she could score some quick money. Now, Darla is dead.

Irritated, I watch you snoop through Rosenberg’s phone. You are getting close, Natalie. Too close. You weren’t supposed to. Somehow, you managed to find your way into this house at the worst possible time. And you might ruin everything because it’s all about to go down…

DAY 5

FIFTY-ONE

NATALIE

Today is my day off. Alternatively, I might’ve been let go, but I’ve yet to find out.

Yesterday, before I left The Splendors, Julien said they wouldn’t need me today. I argued. I texted Nick. Nick didn’t reply. I called him multiple times but didn’t get a response. I gave up, and Julien walked me out to my car after my shift—I guess he finally forced me out.

I still didn’t get what I wanted on Rosenberg. I have no choice but to wait for Nick to call back. Maybe I pushed it with sneaking booze to Rosenberg, but I’m pretty sure I can talk Nick into letting me work there longer.

It’s Monday, and I try to sleep in, but come seven o’clock, I’m staring at the ceiling above my bed, the thoughts in my head a pack of flies. Eventually, I get up, walk to the living room, and plop myself on the couch.

I’m wearing a tank top and a pair of underwear, the way I usually am, and I have no desire to put on any clothes or do anything. The apartment needs cleaning. I need to run errands. After Julien paid me, I have enough for rent for the next month. I should be grateful, but after working for days, after all the pressure and stress, I feel drained and lonely.

I call the hospital, but there’s no update on Cara.

“She might come to any day. Or not.” That seems to be the usual answer.

It all depends on her strength, and I pray that she has it. She’s always been a strong girl. I will go to see her later, spend some time with her. I’ve been so caught up with The Splendors job for the last several days that I completely disregarded everyone else. I’ve ignored calls and texts from friends who were asking about Cara. What do I tell them? To pray for her?

A message dings on my phone—from Cara’s boss. She is asking for an update.

There are no updates. One day you have a friend, the next, your friend is in some type of mental purgatory, and the void in your life is an infinite gaping hole. If Cara doesn’t pull through, several months will go by, and everyone will forget about her. The world will carry on, just like it did after Lindsey had passed.

Except me.

Even Trixy the Rat is suspiciously quiet today. Maybe she’s just happy that I’m finally home.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to shoo away the welling tears and the ache in my chest. I play with the phone, twisting it in my hands, when it starts vibrating with the incoming call.

Detective Dupin.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Miss Olsen?”

“Yes.”

“Detective Dupin here. How are you?”

I’m sure she didn’t call for small talk. “Did you look into Geoffrey Rosenberg?”

“We have, we have.” She clears her throat, her tone not reassuring at all. “This is a complicated matter, you see. Geoffrey Rosenberg is a very high-profile man.”

Why am I not surprised that she’s started the conversation with that exact statement?

“He is well-connected and not easy to reach,” she continues.

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