Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

ALONDRA

Fort Lee, NJ

I’ve paced all night, from one end of my apartment to the other. Every lap is like a pilgrimage away from my dream career, perfect single life, toward…nothingness. I don’t know where to go, so I head back to where I started.

And so continues the cycle.

My work phone is off. The TV is low, so I don’t feel alone, but loud enough to drown my thoughts. I don’t want to remember what began my hell on earth. Yet, here it is, in my mind pacing with me, twisting along with my guts, rising with the nausea every hour on the hour.

“How could you not know that the mayor was taking bribes and gifts from the rich in exchange for contracts you administer?” The reporter asked in a “don’t even try to bullshit me” tone. The gasps echoed against the old City Hall walls, which began to close on me. I looked to my left and right, and no one was there. They sent me out to face the media alone, knowing the FBI was closing in. I’ve had no peace since then. I snuck out the backside of the building, walked two alleyways, and called an Uber from the bakery where I get my breakfast on my way to work. Thankfully, the guy behind the counter — Hector with warm eyes — let me wait in the back so I didn’t have to wait outside.

I barely made it home in time to throw up the only thing I’ve had all day: water. The phone continues to ring as I pace. I had to text my family, telling them I’m okay but need some space. When it rings again, Saweetie and Doja belting out the best friend anthem, I rush to grab it.

“I’m coming home,” Esmeralda Fernandez says before I can say anything.

The knot rises high in my throat, and I have to take a few breaths. Esme’s been my best friend since we were in kindergarten.

“Esme, no,” I manage to rasp out. “I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are. I have Ty looking for flights. We are coming to be with you.”

The panic sets in. I can’t let them come back to this shit. Esme and Ty just got married.

“Don’t come. I won’t be here. I’m taking myself away…” I look around the room, not knowing what to say next. I’m making shit up as I go.

“You can’t lie to me, Alondra. You’re not okay and have not left your apartment since the press conference. I can see you pacing back and forth.”

How can she read me like this, but the world thinks I can mastermind my boss’s corrupt activities?

“I’m not pacing.” I find myself stopping mid-pacing stride right in front of my closet door. To make this convincing, I should act as if I’m leaving. So, I open the door and pull out my mid-size suitcase.

“I’m packing as we speak,” I say, throwing things into the suitcase.

“Okay… I’ll play. What are you taking to...” She pauses. “Where are you going again?”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. Some place far away, where no one knows who I am. I need that. I’m packing my yoga pants, T-shirts, shorts, and jeans.”

“Don’t forget sweatshirts in case it’s cold where you’re going.” She’s using her lawyer voice now.

“Don’t be sarcastic, Esmeralda,” I snap.

“Actually, I think it’s a good idea for you to get away until we’re back. Go somewhere where you can rest, but that’s safe. Why don’t you go to Dominican Republic and stay at the beach for a few days.”

I wish I could, so I sigh. “No, I shouldn’t leave the country. I think I’ll just drive for a bit. We’ve always talked about driving cross country. Let me see how far I can get.”

“I wish I was there with you now.” Her voice breaks, and so does my heart.

I wish she were here, too.

“I want you to stay in Portugal. Finish your honeymoon. This shit will be here when you get back. I’ll stay away until you return. Deal?”

“No. You need a lawyer and a publicist.”

“No. I’m serious, Esme. I won’t be here. Don’t come back early, and do not call Maeven. You both enjoy your vacations.”

And because I need to convince her, I finish throwing my toiletries in my suitcase while we talk. I pause. Where can I go? I don’t want to head north. I search a website about the best beach towns in the east. I see Nags Head, NC, at the bottom of the list. There’s a charming bed & breakfast with views of the Roanoke Sound. It seems perfect, from its polished bedrooms to the boardwalk. I hit the directions button and head out of my apartment.

Twenty minutes later, I am coasting south on the Jersey Turnpike with a full tank of gas, a bottle of Tums, and the weight of the scandal that killed my career riding shotgun. In my rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of New York City, looming in the back, with my dreams and the charmed life that’s probably gone forever. No one will hire someone possibly involved in fraud where programs meant to benefit underserved communities were used to pad the mayor’s pockets. Who the hell is dumb enough not to see what goes on under her nose?

I’m better off hiding where no one knows me until I figure out what’s next because my career is over.