Chapter 30
SOFIA
The moment Frankie leaves the conference room.
I have trouble breathing. I was sure he wouldn’t shoot me in front of everyone in the office, but when I can’t see him anymore, the panic really sets in.
I wonder if he’ll be waiting for me in the parking garage, or if he’s already planted a bomb at my apartment.
I feel a rush of blood envelop my brain, and I know I’m going to have a panic attack.
My face is flushed and my lungs are tight.
I get dizzy and I’m forced to sit down. I put my head in my hands and do my best to breathe.
I’m not a basket case, but I’ve had enough panic attacks to know that they all end pretty swiftly.
I just have to hang in there, and I’ll be okay in a few minutes.
But when the crisis passes, things don’t look that much better.
I’m still directly in Frankie’s line of fire. He could take his revenge on me in ways I haven’t even contemplated yet. What if he arranges to have me arrested for trespassing, or decides to go after my parents?
I have to get out of here and do something, but for the life of me, I can’t come up with a plan.
I had the foresight to take some photos of the journal before I handed it over.
I also have the pictures Mario took of the restaurant.
Maybe I can connect one source with the other and come up with a way to get ahead of the eight ball.
I gear myself up to leave the conference room, but the moment I step out into the bullpen, I get a head rush again.
I run to the bathroom, worried that I’m going to throw up.
Inside, the fluorescent lights don’t help.
I pick a stall and drop to my knees, but nothing comes out.
I feel like a college kid waiting to puke during a frat party.
I’m drunk off Frankie’s threats but not drunk enough.
I kneel there, shaking, grasping the porcelain bowl with both hands. Someone else walks into the bathroom, interrupting my crisis. I close my eyes, waiting until they pick their own stall and lock the door.
I rise slowly, going to the sink to splash water on my face.
I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, wondering why I don’t look worse.
Sure, I look like I’ve had a bad day, but there’s no indication that the woman in the mirror is wanted by the mob.
She just looks like an ordinary reporter, one who hasn’t had enough sleep.
I straighten my shoulders as the other woman comes out from her stall.
I smile stiffly and leave the bathroom before I’m drawn into conversation.
Back at my desk, I sit down. I’m determined to take this basket of lemons that life has handed me and make lemonade.
If I can find a way to nail Frankie and his family to the wall, then maybe I can emerge from this situation intact.
However, as soon as I attempt to go over my notes, I discover that they’ve all vanished. There’s nothing in my home drive except for a few letters I was editing. Those are from months ago. Everything recent is missing, as if someone came through and swiped everything off my physical desktop.
In a panic, I check my backup drive and find that one is empty as well. Whoever did this is good. I didn’t even know they were here, and they got away with everything. There’s one obvious culprit, and that’s Frankie. He was here before I arrived, giving him ample time to mess with my things.
I lean back and close my eyes. This isn’t happening, I tell myself.
It can’t be happening. But then I think about Danny, and the way he looked after he died.
I didn’t want to believe that was real either, but it was.
And every day since then, I’ve been dealing with the ramifications of that reality.
Calmer now, I return to my computer. There has to be something that Frankie didn’t find.
I open one folder after another, hoping to find something incriminating.
But all the research, the data, and the photographs are gone.
I only have what’s left on my phone, and that’s a small sample of what I’ve collected these past few weeks.
I decide it’s time to tell Mr. Harlan about my situation. He should know what to do. I hope he’s had experience with journalists in trouble before. There must be some legal protections I can access, or contacts that will help me disappear.
I stand up, walking mechanically across the bullpen to the boss’s office.
He’s in there on the phone, but waves me in anyway.
I sit down, waiting patiently for him to finish his conversation.
It’s about advertising, so it’s nothing important or confidential.
He winds up with a promise to go fishing with someone, giving me the impression that it wouldn’t be the first time.
“Sofia,” he says, hanging up the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m in trouble,” I say.
“How so?” he wonders.
“Frankie Corello was just here,” I explain. “I think he was on my computer.”
Mr. Harlan sits forward, suddenly invested in the outcome of our conversation. “Just now?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “I spoke to him briefly in the conference room, and when I got up to check my computer, everything was gone.”
“Son of a—” Harlan snaps. He reaches for his phone again and dials 7 for the security desk.
“He’s gone,” I report.
Harlan hangs up. “How long ago was this?”
“Just a couple minutes,” I admit. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me that he was stealing my work. I thought he just came here to frighten me.”
“Did he threaten you?” Mr. Harlan asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Do you want me to call the police?” he offers.
“No,” I respond, shaking my head. I don’t know how deep Francisco Corello’s ties run, and I’m afraid of tipping off the wrong person. I have a few screenshots of the ledger with no names. For all I know, they could be police officers. It’s a chance I can’t afford to take.
“What do you want to do?” Mr. Harlan asks seriously.
“I’d like to take some time off,” I say.
He narrows his eyes, studying me carefully. “How much time?”
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“I can come around your house if you’d like,” Mr. Harlan offers.
I give him a sad smile. It’s kind of him to be willing to take a bullet for me, but I don’t want things to go that far. “I’m okay,” I lie.
“All right,” he agrees. “Keep in touch. I want you to text me at least once a day until you figure out what you want to do.”
“Okay,” I reply. It feels good to know that someone will be checking in on me, even though I may have to disappear. My phone is still back at my apartment, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it with me. In fact, I think that may be a bad idea, but I keep that revelation to myself.
I stand up, reaching out to shake Mr. Harlan’s hand.
He’s been there for me for quite a while, and I feel bad just leaving.
But I know that he understands. I stop by my desk to grab a few things.
They’re just trinkets, really, but they have sentimental value.
I grab the foam college mascot that’s sitting on top of my computer, and the framed picture of Danny that’s tacked to the cubicle wall.
After securing these things, I walk back across the street and get into my car.
It takes me twice as long as usual because the whole way, I’m anticipating a sniper.
I look at the tops of the buildings on the street surrounding the parking garage.
I don’t see anyone, but I don’t really know what to look for.
When I reach my car, I stop to survey it.
I walk around it carefully, crouching to inspect the tires and the rear bumper.
I don’t see anything with wires or explosives, but that doesn’t mean much.
I’m sure professional hitmen are a lot savvier than I am.
If there was anything I could easily recognize as a death device, it probably would be more of a warning than an actual attempt on my life.
I’m just going to have to take my chances, since I can’t stand around here all day.
I put my things on the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel.
So far, so good; nothing explodes. I stick my key in the ignition, leaving the door open.
I think I read somewhere that if a car bomb goes off, leaving the door open will allow you to be blown free.
I hope that’s the case. Or rather, I hope there’s no bomb to begin with.
I turn the engine on and hold my breath. The normal sound of the motor starting is the only thing that registers. It looks like I’m okay to drive. I decide to go back to my apartment and pack some things. If Frankie hasn’t tried to kill me yet, maybe he’ll hold off a little while longer.
I’m a bundle of nerves as I traverse the city streets. Every red light is panic inducing because I think someone is going to pull up next to me and open fire. I can’t get home quick enough, but once I’m back on familiar ground, my fears only get worse.
The walk from my car to my apartment is torture. I’m sure that someone is going to spring out of the shadows and attack me. I’m shaking by the time I open my front door, but inside isn’t any better.
I charge through the apartment, opening every closet door and checking under every surface. I look in places a hitman couldn’t possibly squeeze into, including a chest at the foot of my bed and behind my couch. There’s no one there.
I sit down heavily, needing a rest before packing.
This whole thing has me on edge, and I’m not sure how I’m going to survive.
What if Frankie doesn’t come for me today?
How long will I have to wait, jumping at every loud noise?
I wonder if that is the big punishment he has planned for me.
Maybe he thinks he’s going to sit back and let my own demons drive me crazy.