Imagine, for a moment, that one of the world’s most beloved and successful journalists had, in 1994, embedded himself in OJ Simpson’s world. Imagine that this writer had been reporting an uplifting rags-to-riches biography of the famous football player for months, only to find himself hunched over scribbling notes in the back of a white Ford Bronco gunning it down the freeway after the genre of Simpson’s life story jumped abruptly from sports to true crime. Imagine that Simpson had continued to confide in him from jail. Gobsmacking access. Then imagine that he released the book—destined to be a bestseller—just as Marcia Clarke and Robert Shapiro started sparring over
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