Page 12 of Love Story

But the nightmares wouldn’t leave me alone.

I’d done the right thing—turned everything I’d found over to the federal agencies, laid everything on the line, but it still wasn’t enough.I didn’t have enough proof that I wasn’t part of the embezzling.I should have kept the original files—I thought I had—but they were gone.Vanished, as if they’d never existed.

In my dreams, I kept trying to explain myself to the nameless shouting man, the one who hurled accusations at me like weapons.I’m innocent.I didn’t take the money.I didn’t know what my best friend was doing.But all he ever said back was the same thing, over and over:

“Tell no one.Sign the NDA.If you talk, we get to kill you.”

I mean, fucking hell.My brain was tripping.No one was going to kill me.

But if we never found those original searches I’d done, then how could I prove I knew nothing?Several audits had been misplaced, and the spotlight had turned on me as a potential part of the things I’d uncovered because there was nothing to prove I hadn’t been.

Two nights with barely any sleep and today was day three in Caldwell Crossing.No matter how cozy the apartment over Aunt Harriet’s garage was, sleep was still a stranger, and the nightmares followed me.I’d tried everything—reading until the words blurred, sipping tea until the mug was empty, even counting sheep—but my thoughts refused to quiet.They kept dragging me back to Boston and the mess I was trying to escape.

And to top it off, my whole body ached, a dull reminder of driving into a damn ditch.

It didn’t help.I restarted my phone, and I’d received many messages from people I didn’t want to hear from.

My ex, Owen, said he missed me and wanted me to return.He also asked if I had a well-paid job yet to support him.Well, not in so many words, but he’d soon ditched me when my money ran out, so I was acting on experience.

I’d deleted his messages and blocked his number—one less thing to worry about.

My lawyer left two voicemails for me to find, and there were more every day.Theo had a way of telling me everything would be okay while being honest—his words, not mine—about the horrible things that could happen.

Like if the SEC or the FBI thought I had anything to do with what I’d exposed.

But you’ll be okay.

Sorry, Theo, but those vague reassurances weren’t cutting it and didn’t stop me from dreaming about all the awful outcomes.

My book club friend, Rachel, said she missed our book chats.When was I coming back online, and did I know I’d crossed a line in the last review I posted?

Of course, I knew that.I could recall it word for word, but the main points were always popping into my head at the worst of times.

Three stars - worth it if you are a real fan and can overlook glaring errors….details about hacking protocols, financial systems, and auditing processes were not just oversimplified… outright garbage… mistakes pulled me out of the narrative and made the plot feel contrived… Adam Nelson is a good writer, but it’s obvious he’s never been to New Hampshire.He gets so much wrong about the area that it makes me cringe.

I’d crossed a line, been so brutally personal in my attack.

It wasn’t enough that I’d turned on Crendon Harbor Capital and blown up my career—I’d also let my frustration with life spill over in a scathing review of a popular author’s new release, and said review had taken on a life of its own online.Of course, I regretted what I’d written—I hadn’t been in a good place when I’d written it—but regret doesn’t erase things, and the internet never forgets.Her latest text hit me like a punch.His superfans had taken it viral, and I had so many notifications tagging me on WordBook that, in the end, I turned them off.The WordBook community had been my only escape from work and the endless striving for the next dollar, and I’d even lost that.

No one would leave me alone.

Case in point: the phone buzzed on the bedside table—at six a.m.—and I stared at it before picking it up.Theo Brookes.My lawyer.The man I trusted with what was left of my life.I swiped to answer, bracing myself.

“Theo,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Ben,” he greeted, his tone calm but clipped.“Just wanted to give you an update.We’re making progress, but it’s still a waiting game.You’ve already completed the deposition on camera, which is a major step.And, frankly, my advice to leave the city was well-timed.”

Yeah.It hadn’t been the FBI that had ordered me to leave town, it had been my lawyer who’d suggested spending some time away from the city would be a good idea.

I just wish my nightmares had gotten the message.

When things had started falling apart, he’d suggested I stay within a manageable travelling distance of Boston.This little corner of New Hampshire was as far as I could run, and sometimes, I wondered if it was far enough.

I sighed.“Yeah.”

“Well, it worked out,” he said.“Here’s where we are—the prosecution is pushing for plea bargains with the remaining defendants.If they agree, we should be able to tie this up without needing you to testify in Boston.”

Cautious relief washed over me.“You think that’s likely?”

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