Page 83 of The Proving Ground

“I can’t believe this.”

The judge would send the marshals only if I asked her to, but I wasn’t going to mention that.

“Look, Naomi, let’s calm down for a second and talk about this,” I said. “First, is Lily there with you?”

“No, she went down to get something to eat,” Naomi said. “Cisco was watching her.”

“Okay, good. Now, Cisco said you told him that somebody just slipped a note under the door to your room. Is that what happened?”

“I was in the bathroom, and when I came out I saw it there on the floor.”

My phone started buzzing with another call. Cisco.

“Naomi, just hold on a second. Cisco’s calling me.”

I put the call on hold and switched over.

“No go,” Cisco said. “It was one of the valets here at the hotel. Somebody drove up in a Tesla and gave him a hundred bucks to slip the note under the door. He didn’t get a plate, and his description fits half the people in the city: male, white, eyeglasses, silver-gray Tesla. That’s it.”

“All right, I have to get back to Naomi before we lose her,” I said. “Stay there till I call you back.”

I switched over again. “Naomi, I’m back. You there?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what the note says.”

There was no response.

“Naomi, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. What did the note say?”

“It just had a name written on it. Alison Sterling.”

“Okay. Who is Alison Sterling?”

Another pause.

“Naomi? Who is Alison Sterling?”

“Me. It’s me.”

32

I SPENT Arestless night worrying about what to do about a runaway witness while Maggie opened her phone what seemed like every twenty minutes to check theTimesapp to see if the story and editorial had been posted. By morning, there was still nothing. Bleary-eyed, I walked down the steps of the front deck to get the printed edition of the paper—still a loyal subscriber despite its basically being yesterday’s news today. Once I was back inside, Maggie grabbed it from me and nearly ripped it apart looking for the story about her alleged incapacity.

There was nothing there. But there was a story about the start of the Tidalwaiv trial that I managed to save to read later.

“Any chance this whole thing was a hoax?” I asked. “You said you’d never heard of the reporter before.”

“No, it sounded too legit,” Maggie said. “I could hear people in the background and typewriters clicking.”

“Typewriters? They don’t use typewriters.”

“Keyboards, whatever. It wasn’t a hoax. They just delayed it for some reason. Probably to dig up more dirt on me.”

“Then you should make a move that will make the story look stupid if they print it.”

I walked into the kitchen to brew a double-shot espresso on the machine. I needed something to get me going. Maggie followed me.