Chapter Thirty-Eight

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After those network interviews, my local rivals are nipping at my heels on the alleged sex trafficking conspiracy theory. And the last thing I need is for any of them to have time to think, strategize, and catch up.

But before I can fret too much my cell phone buzzes.

Calibretti, T. – Wilson, I need you back here now. Limpett has a problem.

Wilson, B. – He has tons of problems, but they're not mine. How the hell can I help?

Calibretti, T. – This is no joke, Blake. He's raging about you screwing up badly.

Wilson, B. – Quit playing.

Silence.

I pocket my phone, and for the first time in years, I feel real fear, the kind of fear that comes when you're driving in a storm and can't see more than a few feet ahead.

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