Page 92 of Man of the Year

“No shit, Julien! That doesn’t mean he deserves Guantanamo Bay-type torture!”

The little bitch actually sticks up for me—good.

“Did you get any information out of him?” she asks angrily.

Damn! That fire! I might’ve underestimated her.

“No. But I need you to step away, Natalie?—”

“How about this?”

I can’t see what she’s doing, but the sudden silence is suspicious.

“Damn…” I think that’s the gardener, his face turned toward the open door, his eyes widening.

“Where did you get this?” Julien asks.

“I found them outside the door, on the ground. It’s a stupid Empire State Building keychain Nick carried on him.”

Nooooooo!

Fury and frustration clash in me with such force that I start tugging at the stubborn duct tape, trying to break free. Failing. Failing-failing-failing. Argh! They can’t have that! Not the passkeys!Thatbitch—I should’ve killed her when I brought her here. I’ve never hated a woman more.

“Bring Rosenberg to the bathroom,” Julien orders. “Natalie, take a seat on the couch. I need to check this thumb drive.”

An angry struggle follows. Phil is shoved into the bathroom, and the door slams behind him, leaving him staring at me. He looks like a spooked rabbit that I’d love to club to death.

A moment later, the gardener returns. He undoes the ropes that tie me to the bench, then yanks me up and drags me into the room and toward the desk.

One of the computer screens is lit up with a message,Fingerprint authentication required.

“Be still,” the gardener barks as he holds me from behind. Julien grabs my hand, yanking it closer to the computer, and presses my forefinger to the tiny panel on the thumb drive.

Thank you. Your access is authenticated, the sign flashes on the screen, and multiple windows open to reveal all of my offshore accounts with direct access to them.

The gardener drags me back to the bathroom, dumps me on the floor, and slams the door shut.

That’s it. I’m screwed.

Angry tears burn my eyes. Seething with hate, I curl into myself, wanting to spill someone’s blood right now.

I know what’s going to happen next. Those guys will go through my offshore bank accounts, siphon all the money out—I’m sure they are thieves. If they are smart enough, they will transfer funds from IxResearch too—that’s billions by now. And?—

I want to roar, but I grit my teeth, then start banging my head against the floor, wanting to bash someone else’s skull into pieces.

Almost everything I’ve worked for is in the hands of these thugs.

Phil whimpers behind me, then nudges me with his foot.

“What?” I snap at him in a whisper.

He widens his eyes and motions to his hands.

“Yes, they are tied, just like mine. Now what?”

Wiggling, I manage to sit up on the floor, thinking about what to do next. Kick those two when they come to get us? No chance. Make a run for it? Not a chance either. If they have anything to do with the government, more people will be here in no time, though I have a feeling these guys work on their own. That means that they want the money. Which means they won’t call the cops.

Think, think, think, Eric!

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