Page 67 of Man of the Year

“This is Natalie,” I say right away.

There’s a pause. I wonder if he’s trying to remember who I am.

“I’m working for Geoffrey Rosenberg, remember?” I jolt his memory.

“Where are you calling from?”

“It’s an app on my computer.”

“I told you not to call me from home,” he hisses.

“It’s an app. Untraceable, right?”

“Your fucking IP address is traceable!”

I’m pretty sure he calls me something inappropriate under his breath.

“Why are you home?” he snaps.

“Day off,” I snap back.

“You got that letter to Rosenberg?”

I can’t tell him that it might’ve been stolen by someone at the mansion. “No. I lost it.”

“Youwhat?”

“By accident. We need another plan.”

A row of curses follows. “Listen. Don’t call me from home, your home computer, or anything like that. I don’t want to be tracked.”

I roll my eyes.

“Let’s meet,” he says curtly. “Jersey City. The gas station on West Side Ave. One o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“How am I?—”

The audio bubble on the screen bursts, indicating the end of the phone call.

FIFTY-TWO

NATALIE

Five minutes to one, I pull into the gas station on West Side Avenue.

No matter which radio channel I tune to, the talk shows go on and on about today’s news.

“Are you ready, you little crypto junkies? Ready for the big splash? Today, IxResearch goes public,” a radio DJ announces in an overly excited voice. “You know what that means? It means that if you reserved your I-X market shares, in a matter of days, you’ll be raking in profit. If you didn’t buy the shares yet, don’t walk. Run! Now!”

I kill the radio. If I hear the words “crypto” or “IxResearch” one more time, I’m going to throw up.

The gas station is busy.Good.The stalker guy might be a psycho or a criminal. You can never be too careful. I tell the gas station attendant to pump regular, step out of my car, and stand by its rear, my arms crossed over my chest.

I study every car, every person walking in and out of the convenience store. Still, the guy manages to sneak up on me, approaching from behind the gas pump.

“Natalie?”

His voice whips me around.

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