Chapter 3 - The Fake Life
We arrived at a massive, heavily guarded penthouse overlooking the city skyline.
I sat on a velvet couch, refusing to let go of the baby who was now sleeping peacefully in my arms.
The boss introduced himself as Julian Rossi, the head of the largest crime syndicate on the East Coast.
Julian's technical expert, a young man with a laptop, sat across from me at the glass coffee table.
"I need your driver's license and your cell phone," Julian demanded.
I handed them over with shaking fingers, desperate to prove I was just a normal citizen.
"I was born in Ohio, I moved here a year ago to study art," I explained defensively.
The tech expert typed frantically on his keyboard for several agonizing minutes.
He looked up at Julian, his face pale with disbelief.
"Boss, her social security number belongs to a woman who died twenty years ago," the expert said.
I shook my head, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach.
"That is impossible, you are making a mistake," I insisted.
Julian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
"Check the creation dates on her bank accounts and her lease agreement," Julian ordered.
The expert typed a few more commands and turned the laptop screen toward us.
Every single document, photograph, and financial record tied to Elina Valdez was created exactly six months ago.
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It was the exact same day Julian's wife, Isabella, had been murdered.
My entire life, my memories, and my identity were a carefully constructed fabrication.
