So, Alex waves me over to the window. I sit across from him, nursing my cold cup of coffee and ask him again.

“We were friends. Sort of. I had other friends, but he was kind of shy.”

“So, he's from California, too?” I ask.

“That's the thing, his parents lived there for some time and then in eighth grade, right before high school, they moved to Seattle.”

“What did they do?”

“Something in business. Real estate? I don't really know.”

“They still live in Seattle?”

“I have no idea. I know that's where they moved, but we didn't really stay in touch.”

“How did you connect again?”

“We just ran into each other in LA. I recognized him. We started talking.”

“What did he say he was doing?”

“He said that he was doing day trading. He had a lot of investments. We made plans for him to invest with our hedge fund.”

“Wow, that's a lot of clients for you,” I say. “Liam and Craig.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I'm just wondering if it makes sense to get so involved with your friends and family? Like what happens if you lose their money?”

“You’re worried about Liam losing money… Why exactly?” he asks, folding his hands across his chest.

“I'm not worried about that. Craig… He works hard for that money. He and Lindsey barely see each other.”

“Yes and that's exactly why I'm going to make him a millionaire so that he doesn't have to be such a workhorse for your father.”

I shake my head.

“I know that this is not what you’re really upset about, Emma. I know that this is a difficult situation that Lindsey's going through, but please don't worry about their finances. We take very good care of our clients.”

I shake my head, taking in everything that he’s just said.

I hate how intertwined he is with my family, but at the same time, I also know that Alex knows how to make money and that's probably a good thing.

“So, tell me what you think?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Liam. Do you think that he really made up being that famous writer? That would be… fucked up.”

“I don't know,” I say, shaking my head. “I don't know what to think.”

“Why don't you look up his full name?” he urges, tapping the top of my laptop.

Reluctantly, I agree.

I want to do this privately, but I also need his help. He may know something that I don't. In any case, he may be able to narrow down the list to the right Liam Linville.

I type his name into Google and go through the search results.

On the first page, the second from the bottom up, I read about a Medicare scam out of the state of Washington.

“Click on that one,” Alex says immediately.

“Liam Linville,” I read out loud, “The nephew of one of the largest nursing home chains in the Pacific Northwest testified against his uncle on the stand and became a whistleblower in what became one of the biggest Medicare scam cases in the western US.”

I don't like Alex reading over my shoulder, but I can't stop myself from continuing to read the article.

It goes on to say that Liam Linville testified in court against his uncle and then disappeared. The article is more about the case than Liam, but the word disappeared throws me for a loop.

“What do they mean by that?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Alex says, shaking his head.

I click on the next article that I find through Google and this one also mentions the fact that he had testified against his uncle and then was never heard from again.

A follow-up article mentions that he was difficult to reach but also states that he wanted privacy.

“Do you think that he just took off?” I ask.

I don't want to keep talking to Alex about this, but he's the only one here and the only one who has any answers.

Those other two did mention that he went missing or disappeared. Then again, he's an adult.

He's allowed to not answer phone calls or lose contact.

I bite my lower lip and think about it for a moment. It takes a lot for a journalist to actually use the word disappeared.

I mean, why mention that anything has happened at all?

I wonder what led them to believe that. I wonder why they used that particular word, but then didn't really elaborate on it in the story.

I make a mental note to reach out to the journalists who wrote the stories. If anyone were to have any answers, it would be them.

I continue to go through the next two pages of search results, but don't find anything else of significance.

“Well, I didn't see that coming,” Alex says, leaning against the wall.

There's a calmness to him that puts me at ease. I hate the way this makes me feel.

I'm still angry with him. He's becoming more and more entrenched and entangled with me when all I want is for him to go away.

Still, standing here next to him, I can't help but feel at ease.

Why did he have to do what he did?

Why did everything else change?

I go to the vending machine to get myself some pretzels and come back to find Alex with his head in his phone.

When I glance over his shoulder, I see that he’s reading my article.

27

Emma

“I read your article,” Alex says. “You really went out there like that?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That was a dangerous thing to do.”

“Not as dangerous as staying here with you,” I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“So, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, struggling with the bag before popping a pretzel in my mouth.

“You did mention that you met him at your engagement party, but you didn’t mention me at all.”

“The article is not about you.”

“You met him at your parents’ house. Do you find that a little odd? What are the chances of him being this person that you were looking for?”

I look away. Maybe I should've thought of that earlier. Perhaps, it was all too good to be true.

Liam probably made all of that up and now my story is in print of who D. B. Carter is, in black-and-white.

What's going to happen when the real D. B. Carter approaches the magazine and tells them the truth?

The thought sends a chill down my spine.

What have I done?

Why did I write all of this?

“So… What happened when you went out to his house and found out that he's the guy you met at our engagement party?” Alex asks.

“You know what,” I say. “It's all in the article.”

“I have a feeling that you left a few things out.”

I dart my eyes to look at him with scorn and ask, “Are you really saying this to me right now?”

“Yeah, why not?” he asks nonchalantly.

The anger in the pit of my stomach begins to simmer.

I clench my fists and tell myself to take a deep breath to keep it at bay, but it quickly rises to the surface again.

“You are the one who cheated on me. You have no right to be jealous.”