William was walking along the seaside in Santa Monica, having come straight from work. It was late, but he always worked late. That was his modus operandi, to work twelve-hour days, six days a week (at a minimum). It was how he stayed ahead of the game.
Darkness was kept off by the street lamps along the beach, but a fog clouded the sky and the moon and made this usually familiar walk a little unsettling. It didn't help his foul mood. He and Caroline had argued before he left the office. She often didn't stay past eight, but that night had remained at work. William should have realized that she had a secondary motive. Caro began packing up to go, but then stopped and perched on her desk.
Her eyes and face were dark and unreadable when she began speaking. "You fucked up. Has it ever occurred to you, Mister, that I'm the best relationship you've ever had, and I'm a lesbian?"
"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped. How she knew that Lizabeth was on his mind, just then, he didn't know.
"Relationships—with people—are not all cut and dry and purely for business reasons, even though you've tried hard to prove that in the past," she said.
"I screwed up, but you have no right to berate me," he argued back.
"I suppose it never occurs to you to attempt to make amends, as that would mean admitting a mistake. You just stumble forward like a bull in a china shop. You didn't deserve her! She's better than you," her voice rose slightly (Caroline never yelled).
"She's a clerk in an office," he retorted, and then he knew it was a mistake.
"You don't deserve her if that is the only way you measure people. No, you only think about yourself. And the only way you measure yourself is by your job. And when others don't have an equally illustrious or high-paying one, you hold them in contempt. You are one arrogant bastard, William. I'm ashamed to be your friend." Caroline grabbed the worn leather satchel that she used as a briefcase and stormed out.
He didn't want to let Caroline's words affect him and turned to go back to work, but he couldn't carry on. She was his conscience, as much as he wanted to forget the conversation. William couldn't recall where he was in his project review, so he powered down his equipment, packed up, and headed for home. He ended up in Santa Monica instead.
He found himself walking on a foggy night along a familiar walkway by the ocean, thinking that he had to agree with his co-producer that he was an arrogant fuck-up. His life had been days of crazy busyness growing his company and making a name for himself. Doing what he needed to achieve success, but he had been broadsided by a pair of dark eyes and long dark locks—a woman who was different from any other. But then once having her, he had thrown her away. He was just like every other bastard in Hollywood.
William thrust his hands in his pockets. The unexpected fog chilled the spring night. He continued his pacing, and when he got to the pier, he turned and headed back north, brooding as he went. You can't have it both ways, he told himself. You can't be enamored of Lizabeth for being different then disdain her when she doesn't understand your schedule and work habits.
He kept walking, not stopping to watch the waves crash. That was his usual solution when life was overwhelming. His usual way to calm any inner turmoil, but William was too agitated, too irritated, too disgusted with himself. Caroline's words had pricked his skin, gotten underneath, and he couldn't rid himself of their being justified.
There weren't that many people out this close to nine on a Monday. It was a cold, foggy night, but a couple appeared suddenly out of the fog; they were walking side-by-side. The man looked at his companion with a tentative interest, while she looked back with more eagerness. Their display irritated him. That had been him and Lizabeth months back.
Out of the fog came a figure on a bike, illuminated by the lamps overhead. He knew exactly what was going to happen and watched almost as if in slow motion. The storyteller in him saw it played out in his mind. The thief swerved towards the couple, grabbing the strap of her purse and kicking the woman, so she fell. The motion helped to separate her from her bag. The man was more concerned with his date and leaned over to catch her.
But William knew the outcome and was only a few yards away. He lunged over and attempted to grab the handlebars, but missed. The thief swerved around him. Instead, he caught the flailing end of a jacket with one hand, but that was enough. William didn't manage to unseat him but slowed him down, which allowed him to grab the jacket with his other hand.
"Get off!" cried the thief.
William was able to hold him still, and the woman's date charged over to wrestle the man to the ground. The two of them pinned him down while the purse was extracted.
It turned out to be a far longer evening than he planned with the police being involved, statements given, and seeing the amount of merchandise the thief had tucked in his jacket. By the time he got home, William couldn't help but glow with a particular pride at having caught the bicycle thief. The same one who had attempted to steal Lizabeth's purse that evening long ago. Part of him felt like crowing in triumph.
Instead, he sat in semi-darkness in his living room and thought about how much he wanted to call Lizabeth and share, but William realized he couldn't. He had no idea how she would take his calling her out of the blue. She had given him his marching orders. She understood and had parameters of her own about relationships so had called it off. But did he really want to be so very well understood?
On Wednesday, the Merton Daily banner read 'Spectre Ties to Development.' Jason Jones outlined the strong ties between Spectre Software and the Goulding property being brought before the city council for approval. He described how it had been Victor Denny and Josef Pratt who approached local business-men and women with the guidance of their new sales and marketing hire, George Wickham.
It was Wickham, who had approached Old Man Goulding and won him over when no one else had succeeded in twenty years of wooing or begging. Denny and Pratt then lobbied developers to pool their money and founded the Ground-Up Holding company. It won city endorsement and reversed a decision to develop land on the west side of town that had been approved earlier in the year.
What Jason didn't do was speculate about the money invested in Ground-Up Holding and what would happen to it or the development (that was one of Lizabeth's points from her list). But he had given her attribution credit right after his byline. There was also a line at the end. "This reporter has more news, check back tomorrow for another story."
'Jailhouse Chat' was Jason's piece on Thursday. Lizabeth devoured it over breakfast. In the article (which was longer than Wednesday's), George Wickham discussed his role at Spectre Software. He explained how had been hired into a top-level sales and marketing position and been thrilled to be able to return to Merton after having worked out of the area.
Part of the reason for his hire had been that he was a local man. He knew the way the town functioned, and how it had grown over the years, but mainly, he knew the people. The two founders expected Wickham to use his contacts to pull in people, especially once they started to pursue the development of Goulding's land.
"I was set-up," Wickham claimed. "Because of my background, my parents. I was one of the closest people to William K. Goulding. I was someone from the same social standing. Goulding took my calls when he refused everyone else's. I'm sorry that I was duped into thinking my charm and talent had persuaded him to sell out and not my connections."
Wickham might have remained blind to Denny and Pratt's deception but claimed that he discovered there were two sets of accounting books. One for show, for the investors and customers, and one that highlighted the real activity with the Dark Web software development. Wickham had confronted the owners rather than alerting the authorities then claimed he found himself being accused of credit card skimming and under arrest.
"I was framed. Anything found in my house was planted there. I had nothing to do with placing credit card skimming devices around town. I'm sure the police will be able to verify my alibi. Besides, Victor and Josef have fled."
The two main perpetrators have still not been located. No sign of them has been found at their homes, in Merton, nor have they been seen or tracked anywhere in the state. The FBI released aliases that both men were known to use in the past.
Victor Denny is also known as Victor Lagunov or Victor Baranov. Josef Pratt has used the names Josef Pasternak, Josef Papav, and Igor Rybakov. Both men are believed to have been born in Bulgaria but have lived in the United States for some time.
Lizabeth was eager to talk about Jason's piece in the Merton Daily at her Thursday lunch, but Charlene wanted to talk about moving. The discussion centered mostly around her and Lyle. Lizabeth at least got to mention her research for the Merton Daily reporter. Charlene grinned, said she hadn't read the piece, though she had heard there was breaking news.
Her sister, Maria (who had long had a crush on George Wickham), had called Charlene to complain about George still being in jail and the unfairness of his being caught up in such a scandal. Then, nonplussed about the news, Charlene went back to talking about consolidating households, and what it would be like to live with a boyfriend. Lizabeth let her ramble.
Doug, however, was happy to discuss the news when she went back to work. They talked about both her stunning background research and Jason's interview with George Wickham. She and Doug hashed out the details of both stories, and the frustrating, unanswered questions. She couldn't help but come back to the questions she had pondered over the weekend. How had such a criminal pair ended up in Merton, and where were they now?
It wasn't until Friday that she recalled her idea about changing her name. When Troy Metcalfe came out to say he was leaving early, she asked him about the process.
"It can be as quick as three weeks to approve," he said. "You want to change your name? Your first name?"
"Yes, well, maybe," she faltered.
"To what?" he asked.
"To what most people assume, Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth." He thought about it, nodded his head. "Yeah. I like it. Lizbeth," He said it like her mother always did, dropping the A, "Elizabeth, classy!"
"Like Anthony will always be Anthony and never a Tony," she said. He smiled in agreement; she grinned back and waved him out to wherever he was going.
Home interested her that Friday more than the company of others. The mute comfort of her cat appealed more than the questions in Mary Abel's eyes or the mournful indecision that she would find in Jane Sweet's. Lizabeth knew where she was in life—with a broken heart. But she had learned to make decisions. She had learned how to say no to her mother. She had learned how to be an adult as triumphant and painful as that was. Lizabeth chose to return home to the one creature who gave her unconditional love.
It didn't mean that part of her didn't want to pick at the scab. She was attempting to let it heal and not indulge in second guesses while making dinner. Trying to find something to watch on TV failed, so she pulled out her laptop and looked over the documents that were related to William K. Goulding and the real estate deal.
Though it wasn't related to William Darcy, it still was, in a way and made her think of him.
Lizabeth wondered if she might find a research job when she tired of her job at the John Muir Recording Office. She hoped she could finagle Jason Jones into giving her a reference when she looked for another position. Jason hadn't reported on where the money had gone, though he had discussed the bleak future of Spectre Security Software. It seemed improbable that anyone would consider the company as anything other than dead in the water, with its investors acting like vultures picking over a paltry set of bones. There wasn't much left.
But she reviewed the list of investors in Ground-Up Holdings and noted the names of the families who were potentially out thousands or millions of dollars. It was a broad spectrum of the people she had met at the Metcalfe's party or at other times and places in Merton.
Oddly, Anne Deburg was on the list. Lizabeth speculated that Anne had invested in the property merely because it was being developed at the expense of her mother. Given their brief meeting and comments from William about his cousin, Anne seemed to Lizabeth a contrary person, one who would thwart her mother in such a manner. Somehow, investing in a rival company fit Lizabeth's image of Anne's querulous nature.
There were two small LLCs which had invested in Group-Up Holdings, companies investing in other companies. She had been blinded by that list of the rich and long-standing of Merton and hadn't bothered to look into who owned the LLCs. On a whim, she looked them up now.
Lizabeth was beyond shocked because Anne Deburg owned the first company. She couldn't account for why Anne would create a company to invest in the Goulding development a second time. Was it part of Anne's desire to always be investing in the Merton economy? William had mentioned this several times when he had brought up his family. She supposed that was a possibility.
The second LLC took a lot more time for her to uncover the owner; it was a single name. Everything was hidden in a paper trail, with PO. Boxes, and a lawyer's contact information.
People often equate getting lost hunting for information as being the equivalent to falling down a rabbit hole the way that Alice in Wonderland got lost. But Lizabeth didn't think that was true in this case. Alice fell down the hole because she was following the white rabbit, and serendipitously discovered Wonderland. Alice wasn't searching for anything specific, but that wasn't what Lizabeth was doing. She was more like a predator searching for prey. When she found the owner of the second LLC, she could only sit and stare at the name—Ryan C. Fitzwilliam—suddenly unsure if she understood anything.
Part of getting lost online had been to help her forget about William, and here she was conjuring up conversations they had shared—conversations about his family. He had frequently mentioned both of his cousins, and his devotion to them and their well-being, expressing concern about their future. Anne had surprised him with her skills and ability to conjure up a business out of nothing when she had created a bit-coin currency.
But Ryan was only ever painted black; the unloved son, the soldier who suffered in battle, the one who chose a life of servitude as a disability activist. A man who never had any money to his name. Lizabeth couldn't account for why Ryan wholly owned an LLC that was investing money, a substantial amount of money, in the Goulding property.
So many questions bubbled in her head. She didn't have a good idea how to answer them. It would help to have someone to talk them over with. The best person to do that, she had no right to contact. She had broken things off with William and didn't feel that she could call him up, even as a friend.
Lizabeth supposed he was the sort of person who would be okay with the two of them remaining on friendly terms. There was no way that she and Ed Stone could meet in public and talk politely. Edgar would sneer at her to his dying day.
William wasn't like that; he would welcome a phone call, even a friendship if she reached out. But Lizabeth was still new to relationships, romantic or platonic. She didn't think that her heart could handle being just friends with William Darcy. Particularly if he dated someone else and she got to hear of it, or worse still, he shared the details with her.
Ryan had expressed an interest in Lizabeth (though he had been aggressive about it, and she hadn't liked that)—asking her out when she was dating someone and being…angry…when he suggested that she should have taken him up on his offer that day she ran into him later, on that date with William.
All of this just made her confused and sad and maybe even miserable as she missed William. She decided to go to bed. Lizabeth would decide on her next steps in the morning.
She appreciated the new coffee pot and wondered how she had lived without it at home as she sat in solitude with the cat but in comfort. Harkening back to the first days of living on her own, she remembered how uncomfortable she felt in figuring out how to 'be.' Whether she should sit quietly or listen to music or watch TV; she realized how far she had come.
It wasn't until after breakfast that she pulled out her laptop out. The Merton Daily, which so often had cutesy headlines, had a news title of one word: 'FRAUD,' in the most gigantic letters she had ever seen across the top of the webpage.
She had to read the first paragraph three times through and still couldn't believe what she had read. William's Cousin Anne and her partner, Georgiana Darling, had fled the country with a great deal of the money that they had made from the bit-coin offering.
Before she had known that it was Anne Deburg who was the one creating the bit-coin currency (and that she was the reason for all those men coming in to register all those fictions businesses) when Lizabeth had researched the topic, she had read how often fraud was involved. But Lizabeth didn't believe it possible in this instance because she knew this person. She had met Anne, who was sharp and unfriendly, yes, but that didn't mean she was a criminal or criminally minded. The story that had been crafted about the gold hoard being put up as collateral against the investments made it sound legitimate.
Lizabeth sat back and stared at the article, rubbing her fingers on her palms, which itched for some reason. She wondered what would happen next—what would be the fall-out from all of this? Some people would be out money, but there would be criminal charges filed too. Would the authorities try to hunt them down, like fugitives? Like the people profiled in those hyped-up TV shows she sometimes watched on cable channels?
Her phone lay next to her. The cat had a paw on top of it when Lizabeth reached for it. She honestly thought to call William, almost like offering condolences, then put it back down. She still wasn't confident how he would respond to her reaching out, or what she would say.
She remained glued to the news the entire day. It wasn't just the Merton Daily that covered this deception. It made other local news outlets. By the evening, it had made the national news. Two fugitives fleeing the country with millions of dollars was national-level news. Apparently, they had fled to Panama. Given that William's aunt seemed just as hysterical as her mother, she figured that he was on the receiving end of panic-stricken calls, and he had probably been induced to come north. Lizabeth filed that away, preparing herself in case their paths crossed.
Her concerns about Ryan were swept away with this focus on William's other cousin. But she sidelined any considerations about whether to call him, wondering if she had a right to ask him anything. The news about Spectre Software seemed to be forgotten, yesterday's news. The articles about the Dark Web were second-page news in light of two fugitives fleeing from justice to Panama with a large amount of money. No word was mentioned of George Wickham.
When Lizabeth was in the car (having gone out to get groceries and cat food), there was another breaking news item. Georgiana Darling had been captured in Panama and was to be extradited to the United States. But Anne Deburg still evaded capture, and the Panama authorities had no idea where she was. It was an incomplete news report, the sort that was partially true, but part unconfirmed. Once home, Lizabeth unabashedly spent her time refreshing news pages and waiting for more updates. The story, as it unfolded, seemed to be even uglier. Reports were that Anne had apparently turned on her partner and had turned Georgiana over to the authorities before going to ground.
It was assumed, at this point, that Anne was traveling under an assumed identity as someone with similar looks had been seen at the airport, though no 'Anne Deburg' was on any airline manifest.
Lizabeth added to her growing list of questions.
RuggeCoin:
Size of original hoard?
Bit-coin investors, how much money stolen?
Why did Anne invest in Ground-Up?
Why Did Anne invest twice?
She wondered how George had been able to persuade Goulding to sell when no one else had been successful, thinking back to the research she had done for William, and the secret she had uncovered. That his son, David, was, in fact, his grandson. She wondered if George knew and had used the knowledge to persuade Mr. Goulding to sell the land. It couldn't entirely be a secret as anyone who discovered the birth certificate would know. But some instinct told her she was right, and William K. Goulding had been persuaded to sell the land rather than have that fact come to light.
She also realized that William Darcy had never told her what his connection was with George Wickham. They had dined together that one evening and discussed several topics, but he hadn't brought it up, nor had she pursued it. He had been on edge, somehow. Again, it came down to relationships; she was new at them and wasn't sure if she could ask. Now it ate at her that she hadn't been brave enough. Lizabeth wanted to know what the connection was between those two men.
But the news of Anne Deburg fleeing the country with money she had bilked from her investors hedged out most other thoughts. It distracted her from her speculations even though it wasn't until Saturday evening that there were any new updates. One talking head discussed the subject of fugitives and where they often sought refuge. He believed that Anne Deburg was heading for Russia. Panama was often a stepping stone to Eastern Europe or Russia, and he speculated that she could easily hide there with her ill-gotten money.
Fugitives and extradition were topics that were too much for Lizabeth to consider researching. It seemed her time outside of working hours had become consumed with looking up issues related to Merton and its elite. She couldn't recall the last time she had curled up in bed with a book. That night, she merely went to sleep with Kitty next to her.
On Sunday, Lizabeth woke up resolved and ready to return to thinking about Merton and its development—real estate development.
It had been a weekend of shocking revelations after a week of unbelievable news, but she couldn't help noting the ties back to William Darcy. She wasn't sure that her heart could handle continually considering him.
She spent an uneasy half hour wondering if he was the mastermind behind all of this. He was a storyteller and could see the big picture, but also figure out all the bits and pieces that needed to go into creating it. If he was willing to date someone, but not see them for a month at a time, she figured he must be patient. But then she pulled up that document about Ryan investing two million in Ground-Up Holdings.
She stared at it, unseen, not really reading it. William's family is so strange! Lizabeth thought suddenly. Should she use that as a measure of William's personality, that one cousin had created a bit-coin currency and then run off with the investment? And for some reason, his other cousin had money but chose to portray himself as poor?
But she couldn't help but defend William against her own attacks or the comparison to his cousin's success. He was someone who earned his money. She couldn't fault him for working hard and being successful; she still believed that proximity had been their most significant issue, not his focus on work. If they both lived and worked in the same city, a relationship would be possible.
Lizabeth wondered what he was doing that day, probably working, she guessed. But then she shook her head and thought that he had to be aware of the news. His cousin was on the national news. No doubt, he was in town, consoling his aunt.
He could be with you, a voice in her head said. But then he would only leave to go back to work, said another. Until I decide to move to Los Angeles, it's not going to work, she sighed deeply.
Lizabeth thought about his aunt's property. Maybe if the development of Goulding's land faltered or failed, the city might reconsider Catherine Deburg's land. She reviewed all her notes, lumping everything together into a story.
Spectre Software
People involved: Carter, Chamberlayne, Denny, Forster, Pratt, Wickham, investors, customers
Who are the criminals? Denny & Pratt
Who was hoodwinked? Carter, Chamberlayne, Forster, investors, customers
Software investors, are they out all their money? Customers, yes, Investors, maybe, they are picking through what is left
Dark Web
Credit card skimming: was Ross Philips an installer?
Old Man Goulding's property
Specter's involvement: Denny & Pratt were masterminds
Real estate investors: who, how many, how much? All the old established families in Merton; many millions
RuggeCoin Fraud
Size of original hoard? No way to tell
Bit-coin investors, how much money stolen? Not yet reported
Why did Anne invest in Ground-Up? To thwart her mother?
Why Did Anne invest twice? No idea
She glanced over those unearthed documents about Ryan investing in Ground-Up. Outside of where he got the money (she added another note to her list), her eyes noted the return address: Pemberley House, River Road, Merton. It seemed Ryan, like Anne, had a fondness for his family property. Maybe the cousins were similar in some ways.
Lizabeth had a lot of unanswered questions and decided that staying in the house all day would mean staying in her head and thinking too much about William, so she dressed. It was a lovely spring day, but not overly warm, so she threw a sweater on over a blouse and decided to look at all of the scenes from this 'story.'
She drove up Meadow, that perimeter road, to the Goulding property and parked in a different spot from where she and William had stopped (and where they had run into Ed). It was a massive piece of land, and she didn't understand how a person's resentment or bitterness or whatever emotion had taken hold would make a man shut it up and refuse to allow development. Perhaps relationships were like that, whether it was a father and son (or father and grandson), parent and child. Lizabeth hoped she never held a grudge for twenty years and was so unforgiving as she walked a short length of that rusty brown fence before she returned to her car.
She stopped in her favorite shopping center to purchase crackers and a drink for her drive. She and William had once dined at a restaurant there; it's when they had run into Ryan. It was warm enough in the car that she took off the sweater and cracked open the window as she drove along the north side of town. She avoided the freeways moving from Merton proper to West Merton and sought out the land that Catherine Deburg had wanted to sell.
Once she found Field Avenue, she parked; there were no 'Keep Out' or 'No Trespassing' signs on this fence. Most of the land was leased for agriculture, and Lizabeth wondered that the rent from the lease didn't provide Catherine with sufficient money. Still, William had asserted that his aunt had a lifestyle that was more expensive than most. She laughed again at the development's potential name: Netherfield. It conjured up images of the netherworld, Hades, and Persephone.
Crawling back into her car, she dug into her box of crackers and ate as she drove. As she passed the end of the property near the river, she thought about Anne Deburg, and by extension, Georgiana Darling being extradited to the United States. But Anne was still free. It made her think about meeting her at the Deburg house. She wondered if the aunt was inside mourning the loss of her daughter. There was such a thing as bad publicity—and having your name in the news for fraud couldn't be good.
Lizabeth thought of William and considered it a high probability that he was there, right then, in that house, so she continued on without driving by—just to look at it. A long thoroughfare lay south of the river, parallel to it, and aptly named River Road. She turned onto it, heading east to go home, having almost circumnavigated the entire perimeter of Merton with her wanderings.
As she drew nearer to it, Lizabeth realized that this was the street William had taken the day he had driven her to see the last vestiges of what remained of the family's property: Pemberley. It was almost like that was a code word amongst the cousins. It was the name Anne adopted for her bit-coin filing and had obviously meant something to her if she used it. And Ryan had used it as the contact for his carefully-buried name for that LLC.
Making a sudden choice, she turned off River Road to drive by the entrance just to look at it again, thinking about how a family had come down over time. William had shared how his ancestor had purchased land before California had even become a state and that they had once owned thousands of acres. Much of what she had just driven through had belonged to them. But now, instead of this generation enjoying what previous ones had known—luxury and wealth and status—they had to steal it, like Anne.
The previous generation (his parents and aunt and uncle) had simply begged their parents for the land and sold off assets without considering the impact on their children, wishing only to retain a particular lifestyle. But this last generation—William and Anne and Ryan—had been faced with making their own money and without help.
William now seemed the exception out of the three in that he worked. He had his own company and made money. Anne had chosen to steal it in an elaborate con. Lizabeth wondered again just how many of those gold coins that she and Georgiana purported to find had been found, and if it wasn't like William had speculated, merely a handful—that they had crafted a story that was too good to be true.
But Ryan! Where had Ryan found the money to create a company that could invest two million dollars into the Goulding real estate development to inflate its importance? Had he, like Anne, stolen it? Or had he been funded by someone, given dirty money—laundered money from some nefarious source? Lizabeth had heard about such things but didn't understand the process. Only that money was transferred around until its origins were buried to make it appear legitimate.
She had much to add to her checklist as she approached the entrance to Pemberley, slowing down so she could pull up to the gates. She recalled the afternoon she had spent inside admiring the house's beautiful form, with its large bedrooms, and poky bathrooms. Lizabeth discovered that the gates were open and unchained. Her first thought was that William was visiting, and she considered speeding away.
But she looked up the drive and recognized, or thought she recognized, Ryan's van. She had seen it once before when she had been out with William. They had run into him while he supposedly had been out to meet ex-soldier friends for dinner. Curiosity got the better of her. Lizabeth pulled inside, parking just beyond the gates, and she got out of the car.
It was colder under the trees, so she put her sweater back on, and grabbed her purse, not wanting to leave it lying visible on the seat. She walked tentatively up the curving driveway; it was longer than she remembered. She recalled the afternoon that she and William had driven it as the house came into view. It was still breathtaking to look at. A car was parked in front, a small nondescript one, though she wasn't sure of the make or model. But a figure was loading something into the trunk, and Lizabeth felt her stomach cramp as she watched him.
A/N: Here's where I say a huge thank-you to my husband. He wandered in one day and said "I have an idea for a story…" and talked about bit-coin fraud. (He works in financial software; it's a weird niche.) He sent me loads of links to websites about bit-coins, but also included stuff about the Dark Web and said, pick one, but I thought, why not use both?
Later I had to run to our county recording office for some reason and voila! there was my setting and the story came together.
April seems to be going by faster than March crawled by. Stay safe.
Not sorry for the cliffhanger...see you'all Monday.