“That’s your name.”
“It’s my name, Marcus, but I didn’t write any of this. I’ve never seen these accounts. I’ve never had that profile.”
Diane exhaled slowly, like a woman finally allowed to grieve out loud.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, honey,” she said to him. “I didn’t want to believe it either.”
“Believe what?” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “Marcus, look at me. Please look at me.”
He looked up. His eyes were red at the edges, and something in them had already closed.
“You were researching my family’s estate before we met.”
“No.”
“There are messages here, Elena. To someone named Aaron. You said you’d found the right one. That his family had money.”
“I don’t know anyone named Aaron. Marcus, someone made this. Someone sat down and built this to hand to you.”
Diane made a small, wounded sound. “Please don’t insult his intelligence.”
I turned on her. “You brought this to him.”
