Page 102 of Man of the Year

I start walking away. Just as I step to the front door of my apartment building, I hear Julien’s voice. “Natalie?”

He’s standing by the van’s driver’s side, watching me. “Change the lock on your apartment door. It sucks.”

This man, seriously…

“And if I were you, I’d get a new phone and make it password-protected.” He winks.

I don’t respond, only put the tip of my fingers to the side of my forehead in a military salute.

For the first time, Julien grins at me. It’s a beautiful grin that makes my heart break just a little bit.

SEVENTY-FOUR

NATALIE

I was sedated, kidnapped, almost died, and watched the biggest scam of the year go up in smoke, yet my priority is a rat.

“Sorry, Trixy,” I murmur to our pet, who’s been alone overnight.

She restlessly pounces at the cage bars as I refill her food bowl. I need to visit Cara at the hospital, but first, I need a nap, so I lie down on the couch and pass out for hours.

It’s early afternoon when I wake up.

First things first, I stuff my mouth with a nutrient bar, starving but too exhausted to cook. Then I check the news.

Sure enough, The Splendors’ fire is breaking news. So is IxResearch and Geoffrey Rosenberg. The fraudster’s face is all over the front pages of all online newspapers and blogs. Except this time, it’s a picture of him being led by the FBI in handcuffs, amid the burned-down ruins of The Splendors Mansion. The only standing structure is the guest house in the background. Rosenberg doesn’t look very sad. Whatever he was promised by Nick is now gone, but so is Nick, and knowing what that guy was capable of, I think Rosenberg, or whatever his name is, is the luckiest guy alive.

Do I feel bad about hiding the truth of what went down? Well, those who say that truth is sacred are full of crap. Many things are more important than the truth. Justice, safety, and happiness—those are just a few that law enforcement can’t always guarantee. Truth doesn’t pay the bills. I’m coming to peace with the current situation alarmingly quickly. But a girl’s gotta eat. And I have to take care of Cara.

Next on my agenda is to get my car from downtown by the coffee shop, buy Cara’s favorite muffins and coffee, and drive to the hospital. Since she’s awake, she might want some of her belongings, so I go to her room and pick up her iPad, a book on her nightstand, and a recent magazine that sits on top of a pile of costumes.

When I pick it up, I spot a familiar name on the cover—Geoffrey Rosenberg.

Oh, Cara…

I flip the magazine to the article about the Man of the Year, and stare at his picture.

One man is making splashes in the crypto exchange world, and he is about to become the Crypto King.

Cara must’ve seen this too, recognized him in the club, and knew that he was loaded.

“He’s my jackpot.”

I’m about to put the magazine away—she doesn’t need a reminder—when something falls out of it and lands on the floor.

It’s a photograph, a group of people in the Green Room of the Bleecker Theatre. I know that because I’ve been there, partying with Cara, Lindsey, and some of the actors seven years ago. The theater shut down when we were still in college.

In the picture, Cara’s head is tilted back as she drinks right out of a bottle. Yep, that’s Cara.

I smile as I study the others in the picture. And then my eyes pause on the person second to the right, a man with blond hair, blond eyebrows, and blue eyes. Though it’s a different look and he’s wearing some sort of costume, he’s unmistakable—Geoffrey Rosenberg.

My breath hitches in my throat. “Holy moly, Cara,” I whisper.

Next to him is another face I recognize. The floor falls under my feet—it’s Rich, the stalker.

Girl, what did you get yourself into?

I turn the photograph over and read the writing.

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