Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I have to get back to my old apartment as soon as possible and get that book.
The next morning, I get up early. I suppose technically I don’t really sleep much at all. Instead, I just sort of lie there until it feels like whoever is supposed to be watching the cameras has probably lost interest.
I get dressed in the most casual clothing that’s been brought over for me. It’s exercise stuff—sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, a ball cap pulled down low over my face. With any luck, I won’t be recognized as the sex kitten in heels who was taken here.
I avoid the elevator and take the stairs. I figure it’s less likely for there to be cameras there, and if there are, oh well. I can choose how fast I go down the stairs.
I’d have to stand in an elevator like a sitting duck. I mean… wait. I know what I mean.
I wish I could call someone, but Marcus never gave my phone back. I’m sure that’s just an oversight. I’m sure he’ll make certain I have it in the morning. Once he’s had the chance to go through that too, I imagine.
This is a very dangerous game to be playing, there’s no denying that. It’s quite thrilling, sneaking out of a luxury apartment building while trying to get a scoop on a corrupt billionaire. I’m aware of that chip in my neck, and I know I’ll be followed. But maybe I won’t be followed right away. All I need is an hour or so.
They haven’t had a chance to re-let my apartment yet. The door is open, and the place is empty. It’s very unsettling to see the space I used to live in without anything in it. I’ve already sacrificed so much in following this story, and I’ve barely started.
Things are moving fast, and I’ve lost control. But that’s okay. I don’t need control. I just need to be able to go with the flow.
The place I hid the notebook hasn’t been found. I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I pull it out.
Okay. Good. I’ve got what I came for, but now I am holding the incriminating evidence. I need to get rid of it as quickly as possible.
But where?
The next thing I know, I’ve kind of, sort of technically broken into a friend’s place.
Sasha is an intellectual type with more books than anything else. She’s also at grad school, which means she has papers absolutely everywhere. There’s no better place to hide a notebook.
I look around her little place. It reminds me of what mine used to look like, when I had a place. I don’t have one now. I’m effectively homeless, even though I have an apartment that Marcus is paying for. He could kick me out at a moment’s notice. He probably will, now that I think about it.
As soon as he gets bored with me, I’m going to be out of a place to live. And that will suck because the place I had might not have been nice, but it was cheap. Finding another single bedroom apartment isn’t going to be easy.
While I’m worrying, I’m also looking for a good place to stash my notes. The front door starts to open, and I panic, stuffing the journal underneath a bookshelf.
“Hey!” I call out, just so she doesn’t get too much of a fright.
“Fuck! Goddamnit. What the fuck!?” Sasha comes in swearing, dropping her books all over the floor. “Charlie? What are you doing in here?”
“I’m sorry. I know this is weird.” I rush to her and help her pick her stuff up. “I came in the fire escape. I remembered you saying that the window didn’t latch properly. That’s weirder, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It is a little weird. But I don’t mind weird. I wouldn’t be your friend if I did, would I?”
I knew Sasha was the best choice. She’s open-minded and up for anything. She’s the only one of my friends who probably genuinely wouldn’t care that I broke into her house. I’m so glad I judged her accurately that way.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, lifting her serious brown eyes to me. “You wouldn’t have broken into my place if there wasn’t something wrong.”
“I met someone,” I say. “And I’ve moved out of my place. It’s a bit weird. I just needed to talk, and I lost my phone.”
“Let’s talk then.”
“I can’t talk,” I say, remembering the fact that there’s that tracking chip in my neck and odds are, someone’s going to be coming for me.
“You broke into my place to tell me that you can’t talk? What’s going on?”
“Okay. I admit it. I’m on drugs.”
“No, you’re not,” she says. “Your pupils look completely normal, you’re wearing clean clothing, and you’re not grinding or clenching your teeth, or doing anything other than being completely weird.”