Page 59 of The Five Year Lie

Jay Marker thought he got the best of me. He thought he was so smart.

But he never got this.

Thursday is unseasonably hot and muggy. It’s also a busy day at work, which helps me stay focused for a few hours. I’m working with a moving company for our upcoming office reorganization, and they require hand-holding.

The only thing I’ve shared with Zain so far is a one-line text:

Ariel: Found someone who knew Drew.

Zain is busy, too, though. He’s been in meetings all morning. Although his texts are piling up on my phone.

Zain: How well did they know him?

Zain: Did you find the house in the photograph?

Zain: You ARE going to tell me what happened, right?

When three o’clock arrives, Ray asks me to make a coffee run. And on my way back, I hear my name called.

It’s Zain, and he’s literally chasing me down the sidewalk.

“Okay, spill,” he says breathlessly when he catches up. “Tell me everything.”

I give him a quick download of yesterday’s events—including the scary description of Amina’s interactions with a cop.

Zain’s outrageous eyebrows rise farther with each grim detail I learned in Mr. Ossman’s backyard. “Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “Drew wasn’t a corporate spy. He was on arevengemission.” I can tell how much he loves this idea. Like he’s mentally casting Drew in the next Jason Bourne movie. “This changes everything.”

“It doesn’t,” I argue. And now we’re drawing close to the office building, so I slow my stride.

“It does. There was something rotten at Chime Co. I need to know what.”

“Wait.” I stop outside the door to the building. “Don’t forget that hefailed. The cop retired with full benefits, and the company is still thriving. There was no scandal.”

Zain looks away. “Hmm.”

“And if you think it will be easier to find a Jay Marker on social media than it was to find Drew Miller, think again. I already tried.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Zain insists. “Meet me somewhere later.”

I feel a prickle of unease about his involvement. Like I’ve lost control of the conversation. On the other hand, Zain has access toinformation that I may want. “Buzz and I will be in the park at six thirty. But only for an hour.”

“Fine,” he insists. “Text me the spot.”

That’s how I find myself seated on the edge of the splash pool in Deering Oaks Park in the early evening. It’s shaped like a river, winding through a ravine. I’ve already removed my sandals to let my feet dangle in the water.

Buzz—in swim trunks with turtles on them—is just a few yards away, kneeling beside a rock that’s supposed to make the poured concrete stream look more realistic. He’s got a Playmobil boat with two fishermen and a toy shark.

He’s in his happy place.

Zain texts me right at six thirty.

Zain: Where are you exactly? I can’t find this ravine.

Not that I blame him—the wading pool is one of those places that was invisible to me until I had a toddler to entertain. Before Buzz, all I knew of Deering Oaks Park were the walking paths and the candelabra tree, where Drew and I used to eat ice cream after bike rides.

Now I can barely think about that spot.

I send Zain my location from the Maps app—a blue dot in the green park. He walks up a few minutes later. He’s still wearing the khakis and button-down shirt he wore to work, and he’s carrying a backpack. “Huh. This is nice,” he says, taking in the preschool mayhem in the water and wearing the expression of someone who’s stumbled onto an alien culture.