Page 53

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.

He seems normal. His regular height, a plain middle-aged face, jeans, tie-dye t-shirt, and baseball hat make him look so phenomenally average that I wouldn’t have recognized him even if I had met him before a dozen times.

Hands in his pockets, he looks around, scanning the gas station. He could be holding a knife in his pocket or some other weapon, though there’s no use for him to hurt me. Besides, that’s the freaking problem with my curiosity—it’s a professional habit. I want to know more about Rosenberg, and nothing is more intriguing than this guy’s words from several days ago about going to the police.

So I keep a straight face.

“You alone?” he asks, still scanning the place like he’s on the run.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go,” he says. Without waiting for my reply, he gets into the passenger seat of my car.

I give the attendant a twenty, get in the driver’s seat, and turn to look at the guy.

Inside the car, his presence is far more intimidating.

“Talk,” I say.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Nah. Nuh-huh. I don’t even know what this is about. I don’t need any more trouble. Someone has already searched my place, and now you want me to put you in touch with the man who doesn’t want to deal with you.”

Grunting in irritation, he throws his head back against the seat. “I’ll pay you. Like I said, it will be beneficial for both of us.”

“Beneficial? Which part? A restraining order? No, thank you.”

His eyes snap to me. “Don’t be stupid,” he grits out, his expression changing several degrees closer to psychotic.

I lean away from him. “Excuse me?”

“Listen,” he says urgently, ducking his head and thievishly looking through the windows. “You can make money on this. Trust me. I will explain.”

“Make money how? You still haven’t told me what it’s about.”

“Ah-ha! Curious?” He lights up. “There’s a lot of money in that house.”

“Yeah. And I’m not a thief.”

“Your boss is.”

That gets my attention.

He nods, noticing my surprise. His eyes narrow with a mischievous smile. “Your boss is a fraud. I know for a fact, and I’ll tell you all about it. Five minutes.” He looks around again. “Ten tops. Twenty max.”

“I can see that you already started negotiating.”

He chuckles, his cautious look replaced by an arrogant one. “You have no idea, sweetheart. This is in both of our interests.” He motions with his fingers. “Let’s go.”

I do a quick evaluation of the scenario. The gas station is busy. There’s a camera on the parking lot. We are in the middle of Jersey City, so we will be driving on main streets. There’s nothing this guy can do to hurt me. And why would he?

“Any public place will do,” he says, noticing my hesitation. “Public places are good. A café or something.” His eyes dart around, scanning the parking lot. “I’d rather not be inside the car, yours or mine, in case…”

“In case of what?” If I thought I was paranoid, this guy definitely one-ups me.

He motions with his finger near his ear. “In case someone is listening.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

He shakes his head. “You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

“Whatever. Let’s go,” I say, determined. Now I really need to hear what he has to say. A public place is perfect. “What do you mean by fraud? How’s Rosenberg a fraud?” I ask as I pull out of the gas station and onto the street.

“Go, go, go,” he hurries me, looking around like he’s being followed. “They might be watching.”

Again, I have no idea who “they” are, but I’m determined to find out.