Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Eighteen: The Interviews, Part II

Chapter Eighteen: The Interviews, Part II

After tossing and turning for over two hours, I’d accepted that I wouldn’t be able to sleep (at least not while Matthews was in the house). So I’d long since relocated to the secret room…delayed only by some quick pit-stops to verify everyone else had made it to bed.

From the safety of the narrow passageways (that existed between most rooms), I’d observed everyone in their sleep. They all looked so peaceful, even that underhanded Matthews.

He lay on his side with his dark hair covering most of his face, his body rising and falling slowly. He didn’t look like much of a threat, but I knew better.

Most of his belongings were already packed, and the little things that weren’t, lay neatly besides his duffel for a quick escape (obviously). His right hand rested underneath the unused pillow next to him; clearly in short reach of the gun I’d spotted earlier.

Details that most people probably missed (especially my family), but they represented a very different man than the one he appeared to be.

So I’d hoped the change in scenery would help me decipher my mystery man’s true intentions or in the least allow me to comprehend the events of the past week, but nothing was making much sense.  

Because despite the whole ‘Carlo debacle’ being basically solved, it all felt far from over. After-all someone had been following me around and that person could’ve just infiltrated my home.  

Distrust prompted me to research ‘Eric Matthews’ to understand my counterpart better; the results were a little perturbing, and after being on the computer for around five hours, I’d little to show for it.

Eric Matthews had a birthday sometime in October, but direct probing into the alleged hospital showed it no longer existed (if ever). Little was recorded of him throughout his life; no school registrations or hospital records, and his illustrious business was only three years old.

It didn’t fit. Most people had a long trail of school transcripts, doctor visits, credit history and even social media that stuck to them no matter what.

I’d run into another ghost. On a hunch, I sent Nate a quick message asking him to inquire about Matthews, just in case I was dealing with another undercover cop (or any type of law enforcement).

Exhausted and blurry eyed, I contemplated taking a nap when I heard voices coming from the air-vents. Morning had snuck-in on me, and I begrudging left the secret room to get ready for my day with Matthews.

The activity called for little effort on my part, so after I donned my usual black jeans, sweater and combat boots, I walked towards the kitchen for my daily coffee.

I caught a glimpse of my mother as I walked down the steps; she appeared to be in a heated discussion with someone in my kitchen. Slowing down my stride, I hugged the wall and listened for the other person.

“What are you doing here after all these years?” My mother asked.

“Ellie, you’re not answering my question,” answered the familiar voice of a man.

“Elizabeth if you must…and I owe you nothing. You’re the one that left.”

A knot developed in my stomach, and I knew who the man was long before he walked around the ‘kitchen island’ to face my mother; his grey eyes still haunted me.

Without a second thought, I turned around and almost flew out of the back door. Crouched down, so I wouldn’t be visible through all the glass walls, I steadily made my way around the house. Once in front I cursed; Becks had parked behind me in the driveway.