Page 63 of Lorenzo

No unexplained connection to the hotel.

No evidence she stayed there before.

I search the Halston across her public accounts, including old captions, comments, photographs posted by friends, and location tags.

One result appears from years earlier.

A work event.

She is in the background of someone else’s photograph, half turned away from the camera. The caption identifies the event, and the hotel’s name appears in the location tag.

That is all.

It proves she had been inside the Halston.

It proves almost nothing else.

I add it to the timeline.

The timeline is becoming impressively complete.

Too complete.

I stare at the entries.

Every residence begins after the previous one ends. Every job overlaps properly with the next step. Social photographs support the places she claims to have lived and worked. Friends connect across platforms. Dates line up.

There are no dead periods.

No missing year.

No unexplained six months during which Genevieve vanishes from public view.

Most lives are messier than this, even when no crime is involved.

I know because I spent years looking at people who never expected anyone to examine them. Dates drift. Memories conflict. Employment profiles remain outdated. Old addresses cling to accounts long after someone moves. A person claims to have lived in one place while photographs and records put them somewhere else.

Genevieve’s information aligns with itself almost perfectly.

I look beneath the desk.

“What do you think?”

Mocha opens one eye.

“Exactly.”

I return to the social accounts and look at the dates more closely.

The posting is regular without being constant. Enough activity to keep the accounts current. Enough interaction to establish relationships. Gaps appear, but they are ordinary gaps—a week, two weeks, occasionally longer.

I compare those gaps across platforms.

The same pattern repeats.

When she stops posting on one account, she usually stops on all of them.

That suggests she managed them herself.