The Good Liar(76)

“It happened to me on my first film. I was hired to do a documentary about a historic football team that was going for its twenty-fifth championship. It had all the elements you’d want. Kids from two neighborhoods, so all the racial tension and overcoming circumstances and stuff, but the twist was that in this case, the black kids came from the more affluent neighborhood and the white kids were the ones being bused in to keep up the diversity. The quarterback’s dad had been the quarterback when they’d won the first championship. The coach was about to retire. It was all teed up.”

“So what happened?”

“It was bullshit. After the documentary came out, a reporter did this hatchet job about how I’d been snowed. Half the team was taking steroids, and I never knew. And the coach had this deal with the rival team to let them win. The whole thing was corrupt, and I’d made this puff-piece promo film. It nearly cost me my career. It took five years before someone would finance one of my films again. And even then, my reputation’s never fully recovered.”

“Is that why you were shooting a commercial on October tenth?”

“One of the reasons. Not that documentary filmmakers usually lead glamorous lives.”

“And that’s why you sold my picture? You needed the money.”

“I did.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“Perhaps. But maybe you’ve noticed? I’m not big on sharing.”

“No, I haven’t noticed that at all.”

We smile at each other, and a shadow lifts.

“Franny isn’t Kaitlyn’s daughter,” I say. “That’s what I came to tell you yesterday. She’s a fraud.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“What?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to get caught out like that again?”

“How did you know?”

“I have a very good investigator I work with now. And Franny didn’t cover her tracks all that well. For starters, Franny Maycombe’s not her real name.”

“That makes sense. We . . . I looked for her online and couldn’t find any trace of her. It occurred to me that she’d probably changed her name along the way.”

“But what made you start looking in the first place?”

“Nuh-uh. I told you that was off-limits, remember?”

“Can you at least tell me if it’s something that would ruin me if it came out?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone would assume you should’ve known this.”

Teo doesn’t look like he believes me, and I suspect he’ll be making a call to his investigator when we finish up. I’m going to have to move Kaitlyn. It’s already dangerous enough having her in my house.

“But I can’t tell you either way, and I hope you leave it at that, okay?”

“I’ll try. You mentioned wanting my help with something.”

“We need to expose Franny.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s supposed to marry Joshua, and those kids have been through enough.”

“Why don’t you simply tell him?”

“Why would he believe me? I don’t have any proof. He’ll just think I’m upset about . . . Wait, what is it you know about me? All’s fair.”

“In love and war? Which one is this?”

“You tell me what you know, and maybe I’ll clarify that.”

He reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a file folder. Unlike the ones from the Compensation Committee meetings, this one’s plain blue, purchased at a dollar store. He flips it open. Inside is a credit card statement. He points to an item that’s highlighted in yellow.

“What were you consulting a divorce lawyer for?”





Chapter 34


Corner Piece


Kaitlyn

Kaitlyn had received the first e-mail from Franny when she was pregnant with Emily. Only Franny was calling herself Eileen then. Eileen Warner.

Kaitlyn was working at an architectural firm that did midlevel housing projects. She’d been carrying her pregnancy around like a secret. Knowing that when she announced it, everything at work would change. Not overtly but gradually. Her bosses were old-school men, even the women. They’d come up hard, not seeing their families. Parenting was the responsibility of their stay-at-home wives or nannies. Maternity leave was for sissies. They’d pretend to be happy for her, but they’d be plotting her exit. And she loved her job. The late-night camaraderie. The site visits. The sense of knowing she’d contributed to something tangible in the world, someone’s dream come true.

Kaitlyn almost hadn’t opened the e-mail. They’d been getting a lot of spam at the time, and it had an odd subject line: Inquiry. The content wasn’t much less mysterious. She felt certain as she read it that she was going to be asked to wire money to a Nigerian bank account. Rambling lines about a search. A discovery. Kaitlyn read the words but couldn’t grasp the meaning. And then, there it was: I think you’re my mother.

An odd sound escaped her before she could stop it. The woman in the cubby next to her looked up.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. I just got the strangest e-mail.”