Page 72 of Man of the Year

I can’t be here. Rich was a blackmailer, and he just told me that Rosenberg is a fraud, told me that right before the accident. Or was it murder?

The sound of police sirens approaching is my warning sign.

Dread coils inside me. I frantically search for my car, but it’s blocked off by the stalled traffic.

My eyes meet those of one of the bystanders. He frowns at me, taking a step in my direction. “Didn’t you just come out of the coffee shop?” he asks, pointing at me.

My knees go weak. I can’t get involved. If I talk to the police, the investigation will start. I’ll have to mention Rosenberg, The Splendors, and Rich’s blackmailing plan. What if Rich was right, and now I’m the only person who knows that Rosenberg is a fake? If I talk to the police, the moment I walk out of the police station, I am a witness, and that means… the next target.

The thoughts spin in my head with the speed of a tornado, and when several police cars pull up at the scene of the accident, I stumble backward, then turn around and start running.

I run in an unknown direction. It doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s far away from the dead body. Rich’s words pound in my head with every step—what iftheyare watching me? Havetheybeen watching me this whole time? What iftheysaw me with Rich?

Fear clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe. I feel like I’m choking. I can’t think straight, but I keep running. I should’ve run from The Splendors as soon as I discovered the first hidden camera. But no—I walked into the trap of my own will, doo-dee-doo, thinking I was so clever, playing with the sharks.

I’m so angry at myself! I need to disappear, take a vacation, leave town. Except I don’t have much money. I can’t leave Cara behind. And there’s not a single person I can talk to. Except maybe… Nick.

I pull out my phone and frantically dial his number.

“Hey, doll,” he answers. His voice is cheerful and calm, in contrast to my wildly beating heart. “How’s work?”

“Nick, I’m not at work. We need to meet up.”

“Are we talking about a date?” He chuckles.

God, I wish I was in the mood for flirting. “Something serious. Very serious.”

“You okay?” he asks, his voice growing concerned.

“I’m not sure.”

“Natalie, what’s up? Are you at The Splendors?”

“No. Something’s come up. Nick, I think you need to get out of that house.”

“Whoa, whoa. What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Jersey City. Off Central Ave, crossing Griffith.”

“Calm down, okay? You’re not making sense.”

“Nick, please. Can we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up. How about in ten minutes? We’ll talk. You’ll tell me everything.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Nick.”

Ten minutes later, Nick’s car pulls up to the curb in front of me. The passenger window slides down, and Nick beams at me from his seat. “Hello, trouble.”

He studies me with curiosity as I settle in the passenger seat, then starts driving.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my heartbeat. “I don’t know what I got myself into.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just met with this guy, Rich, who knows Rosenberg.” I open my eyes and turn to Nick. “Did the security guards at The Splendors ever tell you about the intruder they were chasing outside the gate several days ago?”

Nick frowns, and I start telling him about the letters and phone calls from Rich—everything Rich told me in the café. When I finally tell him that Rosenberg might be operating under a false identity, Nick shakes his head, his smile gone.

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