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“Yeah, we can both keep saying that, but it’s still a shock, right?”
Myron said nothing.
“And you’re right. It doesn’t matter. Not in that way. But here’s where it gets weirder. Look at the last date this boy—I know this Bo Storm’s not a boy, but my God, he’s so young—look at the last day he posted.”
Myron took the phone from her now and scrolled. The most recent photo was Bo standing on a beach wearing tight bathing trunks and a black tuxedo jacket with no shirt under it. The caption read “Beach Formal for Larry and Craig’s Wedding,” followed by various emojis of hearts and flames and rainbows.
Myron looked at the date. “He hasn’t posted in five years.”
“He stopped two weeks before Greg ran off for Asia. And look before that. This Bo guy never went more than two or three days without posting. So, I mean, put it together. Greg is flirting with this young hot guy on Instagram. Suddenly Greg decides to run off. The hot young guy stops posting. So you tell me.”
The implication seemed obvious.
“After you read the messages,” Myron began, “did you confront Greg?”
“No. At the time… How to put this? I was surprised, sure. And part of me was devastated. But part of me… I loved Greg. I really did. But imagine how hard his life must have been, Myron—hiding who he really was so he could keep his life in sports.”
“It’s 2024,” Myron said.
“Seriously? Tell me—how many male coaches in pro sports have come out?”
Myron nodded. “Fair point. So you figured Greg ran off with this Bo guy?”
“What else would you conclude under the circumstances? Did you really buy the whole monastery-in-Laos stuff?”
“I guess not.”
“And in a way, I was happy for him. Greg was never at peace. Not his entire life. There was something always roiling inside of him. I lived with him and knew him better than anyone and yet I always felt that distance. So I let it go. I had the money. I had the perks of marriage, and I was already used to not having him around. It was all okay. Until he died. Jeremy was crushed.”
Myron remembered. That had been the last time Myron had seen his biological son—at Greg’s funeral crying over the death of his “real” father.
“We’re still missing big pieces,” Myron said.
“I know.”
“Let’s say Greg was attracted to Bo. Let’s say the two of them ran off together. How do we go from that to Greg, what, faking his own death?”
“I don’t know.”
“And then, what, he waited a few years and murdered Cecelia Callister and her son?”
“Well,” Emily said, “Cecelia was what I thought was his type—beautiful and married. But I don’t know what to think anymore. Was Greg gay? Was he into married women? Both? Neither? And now the FBI think he’s alive and murdered two people. I can’t see it, but people are full of secrets, Myron. You know that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
When Myron first returned to the Lock-Horne Building after his too-long hiatus, he would constantly get into the elevator and, out of habit, press the fourth-floor button, his old one. Today he did it on purpose. His old office now housed FFD—Fisher, Friedman and Diaz, a hyperaggressive female-led victims’ rights law firm. Created by the charismatic and media-savvy Sadie Fisher, FFD advocated for the abused, the bullied, the battered, taking on this new digital era, trying to get the laws updated and the victims protected.
The front page of their website reads:
We help you knee the abusers, the stalkers, the douchebags, the trolls, the pervs and the psychos right in the balls.
The new kick-ass law firm was, alas, busy because insecure and violent men (being factual here and not PC/sexist: The vast majority of stalkers and abusers are men, the vast majority of their targets are women) were very much in vogue. As Win put it when he invested in FFD, “Insecure, enraged men are a growth industry.”
The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, so Myron knocked on the office door.
A familiar voice said, “Come in.”
Myron opened the door. Esperanza Diaz had her back to him. She was on the phone. She stood looking out the same window in the same office she used when this space had been MB Reps. Esperanza had started off as Myron’s receptionist and assistant, but by the time they sold the agency, Esperanza had finished law school, passed the bar, and become his full partner. Eight months ago, not long before Myron decided that it was time to launch his sports-and-entertainment agency comeback, Win introduced Esperanza to Sadie Fisher. The two hit it off, and Fisher and Friedman added Diaz to their name. Now Esperanza, perhaps the best ass-kicker Myron knew, had a whole new arena to kick ass in.
