Page 54 of Set In Stone

We didn’t talk anymore on the drive back to Cornerstone Tower. Having just experienced the longest conversation I’ve ever had with Hale, there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. I didn’t ask again about whether or not he would tell Alexander about my visit to the DA. There was no need to. I knew he wouldn’t, even if the words were leftunspoken.

* * *

When Haleand I pulled up to the towering fifty-story structure, I looked up to the sleek spire that topped the building. Low lying gray clouds hid it from view. It was as if it disappeared into nothingness, embodying the answers that I searched for but couldn’t see. I still didn’t know what I was going to do. I was so conflicted, not knowing if I were coming or going. But, at the very least, I felt like Hale and I had come to anunderstanding.

Once I was back in my office, I sat at my desk and pondered over the conversation I had with him. He told me that I had all the power I needed. It was just up to me to figure out how to use it. However, the comment he made about whether or not I had ever Googled my name was nagging at me more than anythingelse.

I was due to meet Alexander and the architect in about an hour. I had plenty of work to do to pass the time, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. On a whim, I turned toward my computer and opened the online search engine. I typed in KRYSTINA COLE NYC. I felt a sense of déjà vu, as I had once completed a similar search when I was trying to discover who Alexander was. I remembered the numerous articles I found on him, but nothing prepared me for what a search of my namerevealed.

The number of results that populated were astounding. What was even more shocking were the publications that my name was listedin.

This can’t be right. It’s got to be someone else with the same name asme.

My name was listed in everything from local online blogs toRolling Stone.I scrolled down the list, one by one, in utter disbelief. I didn’t know how I was unaware of this until now. But then again, I wasn’t in the habit of Googling myself and Alexander forbade me to use social media. I was starting to seewhy.

As I read through the many news links, I found that most of them were about Alexander with my name tossed in here or there. However, there were some that speculated about our relationship and I began to get angry. If I read one more article about how I was a supposed gold-digger, I might scream. Not now, nor was I ever, after Alexander’smoney.

There were several pictures of me, many of which were taken at a few events that Alexander and I attended. It was sort of surreal, as I hadn’t even realized our picture was being taken at the time. However, there were other photos of just me. These were the pictures that really grated on my nerves. They varied in location. Some were taken as I waited in line for coffee at La Biga. Others were taken in random parts of the city as I went about my day. Each image was captioned with arbitrary things, such as the name of the designer for the clothes I wore or the notation of a recent haircut. They even knew the name of my hairsalon.

What thefuck?

The intrusion was infuriating. But it was also scary. A chill raced down my spine and I couldn’t help but to think of Princess Diana’s fatal car crash and the paparazzi. While I wasn’t nearly as popular as the beloved Royal, the invasion of privacy she must have felt had to mirror my own to some extent. Suddenly, Alexander’s insistence on a bodyguard didn’t seem all that unreasonableanymore.

As I continued to click through the links, I came across an article about Alexander that was written by Mac Owens. It was dated five years back and published by a newspaper I had never heard of. I skimmed through the text, not finding much of it interesting. In fact, the content was pretty dry, despite its lengthiness. It mostly spoke of Alexander’s wealth and speculated income. There were references to property holdings that extended from New York all the way to the Florida Keys. It reminded me of my conversation with Thomas Green about how far Alexander’s influence extends. While I was sure Alexander didn’t keep this information from me deliberately, I decided that it should be something we discussed before we werewed.

Considering Mac Owens’ current project with Charlie, finding an earlier piece he had written about Alexander was ironic. I exited out of the article and switched up my search. I wanted to see if he had published anything else related to Alexander or StoneEnterprise.

I didn’t find anything else, but I did discover that Mac got his start in journalism at a well-known tabloid. There were pages and pages of links, many of which gave the reader stories about local and world-renowned celebrities. The more I read, the more my stomach began toturn.

Hale was right. Mac Owens was not a stereotypical gossip columnist, but an investigative journalist – one who thrived on digging up dirt about celebrities, politicians, and other public figures. What Hale failed to mention was that this man destroyed families, reputations, and in some cases, marriages of unsuspecting people. Seeing what he did made mesick.

And I planned on talking to this sleazebag…

Perhaps that was why Hale suggested I Google my name. He must have known the direction my search would take. No matter what his reasons where, I learned more than I wanted to learn. Mac Owens could be potentially dangerous in more ways than one. I no longer had any intention to meet with him in the future. Instead, I planned to heed Alexander’s demands regarding my protection. I may not always like following his orders, but I needed to remember that there wasalwaysa reason for givingthem.

20

alexander

“Hi,this is Justine. Please leave amessage.”

I hung up my cell phone and tossed it on the desk. For the third time today, I was sent to my sister’s voicemail. She wasn’t even answering emails. I was confident that she’d respond to the email about the Carnegie Medal of Philanthropy, but even that didn’t entice her toresurface.

Where the fuck isshe?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on. I ignored the documents I still needed to sign and the flood of emails that needed to be sorted. I had been working non-stop since eight that morning, but Justine had been on my mind through itall.

The location service setting on her phone was turned off, so Hale was unable to locate her that way. I had Bryan pull up the expense reports and credit card statements, but I still came up empty. The only thing I found were a few ATM withdrawals made in various parts of the city. Each one was for three hundred dollars. Wherever Justine was, she was usingcash.

At the very least, that bit of activity led me to believe there wasn’t any foul play. Nevertheless, I planned to go to her condo later on just to make sure. Cautious instincts or not, I could not put it off anylonger.

I roughly pushed away from the desk and stood, slamming the chair into the expansive window behind me. I needed a mental break. Between Justine, Charlie’s case, that goddamned article, and the tension between Krystina and me, my nerves were shot. While Krystina and I seemed to be in a better place than we were a few days prior, there was still a faint strain that loomed between us and I didn’t know why. The only positive thing in my life seemed to be business. Everything was running smoothly, all the puzzle pieces fitting nicely together. It was my oneconstant.

I paced back and forth in my office, a sort of restless energy settling over me. My normal life, one that I strived to keep measured and controlled, had been in a tailspin for months. No matter what I did, there always seemed to be another shoe that dropped. I raked my hands through my hair in frustration before pounding my fists against the windowglass.

The sound of my fists against the glass made me pause. I quickly dropped them to my sides and took a few calming breaths. I needed to get a handle on my temper. Fate was giving me the ultimate test. All the strain and turmoil over the past six months could have broken me. It hadn’t, although I came scarily close to losing it a few times. Nonetheless, the challenge wasn’t over. I still had to find the resiliency to withstand the future. If not for myself, then forKrystina.

A good sparring match with my personal trainer always worked to diffuse my rage. I might have considered calling him that afternoon, but a glance at my watch told me Krystina would be here any minute. We were supposed to meet with Kent Bloomfield, the architect I hired to draw up the plans for the house in Westchester. However, little did she know that I canceled the appointment. Instead, I requested that the blueprints be sent to my office. I would review them personally with her, but I knew she wouldn’t be happy with me for canceling with the prominentarchitect.

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