Thoughts overwhelmed my mind, and I had to take a break from my computer for a moment. Sitting it to the side, I paced Vic's room, smoking a cigarette.
The night before we'd left for Seattle, when Molly was FaceTiming with Gabe, and he'd said, “You’ll see the humiliation I’m capable of when you return from Seattle,” and Clo had conveniently choked on the smoke at the same time. Had she not realized that's where we were going? Did she know we were going to meet up with her ex-partner in crime?
"What's the case even about?" she had asked me that first morning of our trip, right before sneaking in Sage's house. What was she looking for in that basement? Is that why she wanted me to spank her instead of telling Gabe what she'd done?
“I’m guessin’ this ain’t the first time you’ve gotten a free upgrade.” ... "My dad was an expert at this kinda shit." ... "Salesman?" ... "Thief. He's in jail right now. Convicted felon." Her dad? Maybe he was the key to this.
I sat in Vic's recliner, depositing my cigarette into the ashtray and picking up my computer again. I scrolled up to the guardian names listed on Chloe Peterson's school record. The early years had Melvin Harris and Nancy Peterson, who I assumed were her parents. Later in middle and high school her emergency contact was listed as Esther S. Harris.
"Did y'all ever get caught for real?" ... "Only by my grandma." ..."She musta been pissed!" ... "Nah, my father was always the favorite. Esther was her paternal grandma?
With another puff off my cigarette and shaky fingers, I opened my internet browser, making sure proper safeguards were up before typing in Melvin Harris convicted felon. I didn’t have to dig deep to find a headline from 2009: Detroit Man Receives 20-Year Sentence for Multi-Million Dollar Scandal. A quick scan of the article taught me that Melvin had orchestrated a sophisticated con, siphoning millions from a company he pretended to work for, living a lavish lifestyle that nobody suspected was funded by stolen money.
That first night I met her at Dominic's... "You got someplace like this where you come from?" ... "Nah, I preferred to crash private parties in hotels, scarf down fancy food, talk my way into an elite suite, and pass out after binging on the open bar." What normal 26 year old crashes private parties in hotel suites? Only someone who knew that type of wealth existed...
My mind racing all over the place, I went back to the receipt from the car rental agency we had used in Seattle: Chloe M. Patterson, DOB 12/12/1992. But Izaak had clearly said "Peterson," right?
Back to the school records. Chloe O. Peterson, DOB 6/6/1992.
It was too close.
Onto DMV records, I looked into both names, and they were both there (not surprising, considering Sage was a hacking genius and could've easily planted this information). Neither the addresses nor dates of birth matched, and the photos were quite different, with Peterson more similar to the yearbook pic, and Patterson closer to the Clo I knew. Were they the same person?
I picked up my cigarette, which had burned to mostly ash at this point. Inhaling deeply, I considered my next steps, then stubbed out what was left.
I went back to Melvin Harris. Reading more carefully through the article and eventually the court records with investigation details, I saw the same cunning and manipulation tactics that Pattie Cake employed. Melvin used his charisma and deep financial knowledge to exploit trust and systems, much like Pattie used her fabricated persona to exploit vulnerabilities in her targets. Both preyed on the trust and resources of those around them, leaving behind a trail of betrayal and financial ruin.
“Is Clo really that difficult? She seems like such an innocent little angel!” ... “I’m good at hiding my devil horns.” ... “The fuck does that mean? That you’re a liar?” I had trusted Clo from the beginning, thinking of her as innocent and angelic. But now the evidence was clear — she was a con, just like her dad.
That thought almost caused me to launch my laptop across the room, so I had to slam it shut and toss it gently aside, standing to pace again. "What the fuck, bro," I said aloud to no one. "After all we've been through together and now it feels like I don't even know you." I paced faster wondering what to do, feeling a fire in my chest, a tension in my shoulders, ready to punch someone. Am I going crazy? "I trusted you. I opened up to you! Told you my darkest fucking secrets. Because I thought you were part of the family. But you're fucking not!" My hands balled into fists, trying to take over. I knew I needed to talk to someone... needed Toby or Molly to calm me down, or Izaak to play sports against, or Gabe to cane me again. But it was the middle of the night, even Molly was sleeping. "You're a fucking con and don't deserve to be part of our family. Jokes on me for fucking trusting you."
My vision was getting blurry and I needed to do something, quick. My mind flashed to Dominic’s – a drink, a line of coke, a poker game… my usual go-to solutions. Instead, I snatched up the tv remote and launched it against the wall, causing it to shatter with a loud crash. I heard the faint yelling of my downstairs neighbor: "go to sleep!"
With a grumble, I took a deep breath and plopped back down on the recliner, muttering a "sorry" that my neighbor couldn't hear. Not that it mattered, all he wanted was for me to sit the fuck down.
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