Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I grab the ledger that I stole from Francisco’s office and stick it in my pocket. Glancing at my phone, I reluctantly leave it on the counter. It won’t help me where I’m going. I can spend a little bit of my nest egg on a burner phone at the bus station. At least I’ll be able to contact my parents.
It feels strange not to have my phone with me. The whole time I’m driving, I worry about getting into an accident and not being able to call for help. It also feels strange to be outside of my apartment. Every person I see looks like a mafia hitman in disguise. I’m not sure where the fatal blow will come from, so I’m hypervigilant the whole time.
I wonder if I will have to ditch my car. How deep do Francisco Corello’s roots run? Pretty deep as far as I can tell. There are no names attached to the numbers in the ledger, but that doesn’t stop me from speculating. There are probably police officers or even city officials who are on Corello’s payroll.
“One thing at a time,” I remind myself out loud.
I pull into the parking lot across the street from the newspaper office. I have a keycard that I swipe to get in and out of the lot, and that makes me nervous. What if I trip a sensor somehow, and Corello knows it’s me? I’m just going to have to put one foot in front of the other because this whole second-guessing thing is driving me crazy.
I straighten my shoulders, trying not to look like a person on the run. Walking in the front door, I show my badge at the front desk. No problems there; they just wave me through like normal. I ride the elevator up to my floor, running through the game plan in my head. I’m going to barge into Mr. Harlan’s office no matter who he’s with. A few minutes later, I’ll stop by my desk, grab a few things, send a few final emails, and then I’ll be off.
All my plans go down the tube, however, when I step out of the elevator. There, leaning against my desk with a full view of the entire floor, is Frankie. Our eyes meet and lock. There’s no turning back.
My legs feel like cement blocks as I cross the room. It doesn’t look like he has a gun, and besides, there are at least a dozen other people in the office. He can’t be here to kill me.
I approach him cautiously, my reptilian brain ready to fight or flee at any moment. Frankie straightens up, meeting me halfway. His eyes are cold, and I know I’ve hurt him. Somewhere deep in my heart, I mourn the love he once felt for me. It’s clear, however, that he doesn’t love me anymore.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” he responds.
He gives me a peck on the cheek and puts his hand on my elbow. It’s a gentle touch, but his objective is clear. I can’t run anymore. I glance over at the door to Harlan’s office. It’s closed; I have no allies in this fight.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Frankie asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.
I glance around. Of course, he doesn’t want to talk here where other people can hear us, but I don’t want to leave. If he gets me alone, there’s no telling what he will do. I think about my car, safely parked across the street. There’s no way I can get back there without creating a scene.
I look over at one of the conference rooms that is available for anyone in our building to use. It features a glass window so that everyone can see inside.
“This way,” I say, leading him toward the conference room.
Frankie sees where I’m going and takes control. He almost forces me along with him, his grip on my elbow tightening to the point of discomfort. Once we’re inside, he releases me and shuts the door.
“Was any of it true?” he demands frostily.
“Of course,” I reply, looking down at my shoes.
“Which part?” he snaps.
“I really did like you,” I respond, feeling tears well up in my throat.
Frankie turns away, pacing the length of the conference table before coming back to face me. “Did you really just run into me in the library, or was that all part of your plan?”
“I was there to do research,” I begin.
“On my family?” he guesses.
“That’s right,” I confirm. “I didn’t know I would run into you.”
“But when you did, you seized the opportunity,” he accuses.
“That’s right,” I repeat.
“The whole time you were just using me,” he moans, running a hand through his hair.
“No,” I plead. “That time at the park, and when you spent the night at my house—”
“Stop!” he yells.
I glance over at the glass wall to see if anyone is paying attention. The few people on this floor are hard at work on their computers. They don’t even look up. I know that the conference room is soundproof because we aren’t the first people to want a private place to talk. But Frankie’s actions are getting closer to what I might call threatening. I hope that if he puts his hands on me, someone will intervene.