Page 25 of The Five Year Lie

Zain grabs both reams from me, and I’m too upset to argue. “So ourDrewwas legally a... sixtyish-year-old man?”

“Actually, older,” he says in a low voice. “It used to be that nobody got their Social Security number until they got their first job. So that person is probably over seventy now.”

“Okay,” I say with forced calm. “So Drew, if that was even his real name, was using someone else’s...” I swallow hard.

“Identity,” Zain says quietly.

“Butwhy?” Zain just shakes his head. I’m sure he’s already wondered the same thing. I just need a moment to catch up. “Unless the bad social is just a typo?”

“Probably not. If an employee provides a name that doesn’t match up to the right Social Security number, it will get flagged by the system. So it’s likely that the real Andrew Miller was given that number in 1963.”

“So then how did he take a job as that guy, with that birth date?”

Zain shrugs. “Hard to say. But remember that your dad used a subcontractor for HR. Drew would have interviewed in our offices when he got hired. Then he would have filled out all the paperwork, which got sent to the off-site HR company.”

“Oh.” I think I see where this is going. “So if all the documents matched up, the HR worker might not spot the mistake.”

“It’s just a theory,” Zain says.

The line moves, and I automatically take two steps forward. But my mind is bounding around like a scared rabbit. Who the hell was Drew Miller, if he wasn’t Drew Miller?

“My buddy will do more work on it if you like. The fee is two hundred bucks.”

Such a small amount of money, really, for something likely to blow my mind. “I’m good for it.” And angry, as well as desperatelycurious. He left me, which was bad enough. But he also lied to me right from day one?

For years now I’ve been carrying around the golden memories of our time together. Even if only for a short time, he was the best person in my life. I thought he was worthy of my love, and that all my sadness had a purpose.

Now I want to howl like a banshee, right here in the deli.

“It’s one thing to know for sure that he lied,” Zain says thoughtfully, oblivious to my anguish. “But the harder question is why.”

“Yeah. Sure,” I mutter. “I’dloveto know that.”

Or maybe I really wouldn’t. If Drew was a cheat and a liar, I’ll have to carry that with me, too. And navigate Buzz’s future questions about his father.

“Did you call the cemetery?” Zain asks. “I saw you googling it on your phone.”

“Not yet.”

“Could be interesting,” he says. “Now there’stwoDrew Millers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who’s buried in North Carolina? That’s what I’d want to know.”

“Seriously. Whowasthat guy?” I take a panicked, shuddering breath.

“Hey,” Zain whispers. “This is a lot, right? Do you want me to just drop it?”

“No,” I say immediately. “I hate liars.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “I have some more ideas. After my buddy does his research, we can try to find the real Andrew Miller. Although we don’t actually know if they knew each other.”

“You said your friend traces people for a living. Can I pay him to keep digging? Beyond the Social Security number?”

“If necessary. But first you have to order something for lunch. And cookies for your uncle.”

Sure enough, it’s our turn at the counter. I stare up at the menu board with unseeing eyes.