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.
