Page 71 of Rise (Symbols of Love 1)

My heart already thundering, starts to beat like a bass drum in my chest. I press mute and tell the cab driver I’ve had a change of plans and rattle off the address to my office.

“Addie! Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Milly, I did!” I snap, adrenaline now taking over.

“I am in the back of a cab headed to my house, I had to give the cab driver a new address. What the hell is happening?”

“Did you not watch any TV this weekend? I mean, they have entire profiles on our family running on CNN. The reporters have been hounding us all. Mom has come to stay with us. The only one they haven’t found is Lilly because apparently her address is unlisted.”

“Milly, I need to read the rest of my text messages, listen to voicemails, and just see what the hell is happening. I promise I’ll call you back.”

“Addie, I am so sorry. You have been the focus of the story, darling. They might be at your office, too. I know they were on Friday.”

“My office? What?” I clutch my chest. I feel like I am in a vortex.

“Milly, I have to go. I will call you back.” And without waiting for her response, I hang up.

I start scrolling through my text messages and I know nothing will be the same. There is only one message from Jack, but it’s straightforward.

Jack Westin: Please come to the office as soon as you receive this. Use the service entrance.

It’s a good thing I am on my way there now. I realize my cab driver is watching me intently from his rearview mirror. When our eyes meet, he squints like he is trying to determine whether or not his eyes are playing tricks on him.

“Can I help you?” I snap. He is young, no older than thirty, someone whose heritage, like mine, is unclear at first glance.

“Yeah. You look just like the girl they’ve been talking about all weekend. The one who is the daughter of the guy who robbed all of those people and disappeared.” The excitement in his voice makes me extremely nervous.

“They’re looking for ya’,” he says in an accent that tells me he is a native Londoner.

Suddenly he lifts his hip off his seat and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “Fuckin’ hell. They’ll pay for a pic of you, man. You’re in my fuckin’ cab.”

We are at a red light on Euston Road when he turns around to snap a picture of me on his phone. Facing forward again, his fingers are flying across his phone’s keyboard. His tongue hanging out of his grinning mouth as he mutters about this being his “lucky day”.

I grab my bags and take advantage of us being stopped to hop out of the cab. “Hey! You haven’t paid the fare, you fucking bitch! You’re a thief just like your fucking father!” he screams after me as I slam the door and run down the street.

I reach into my bag for my phone to order an Uber. My first swipe through with my hand proves fruitless. I stop at a Starbucks at the corner and put my bag down on the table to rummage through it.

My phone is not inside. I pat myself down. Even while I am doing this I know it’s a waste of time. I’ve left my phone in the back of the cab.

FUCK!

I open my rolling suitcase and pull out my MacBook. I open up my browser and click the Find my iPhone feature on my computer. I choose the option to erase my phone. It may be gone, but at least I know the information on it is, too.

I slump down into the chair at the table where I’ve set up camp and force myself to take a deep breath. I need to catch another cab and find a way to get to the office.

I want to call Simon so badly, but I have no idea what to say. I start to close my browser, but decide to see what Milly was talking about and Google myself.

I have to put my hand over my mouth to silence my cry of distress.

The immediate search returns are dozens of news stories on every major UK news outlet about me.

They have headlines like “Missing Enron Heiress Hiding in Plain Sight,” or “Do Enron heiresses know where their father is?”

Heiress? What the hell are they talking about?

My picture from a social media account I haven’t used in years is everywhere. There is also my picture from the LaSalle and Willis’ website.

This spurs me into action again. I rush back outside and hail another cab. This time, I pull my collar up and use my scarf as a head cover.

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