No Longer His Ghost: My Life Begins

hattan penthouse. For five years, I'd crafted this perfect life, but tonight, I'd discover

cted on five years of building a flawless

e's desk containing a cheap black USB drive-a significant

es": hundreds of photos of Blake with his college girlfriend, Isabelle, passionate love letters, and a

sed up to play house. My non-existence in his world a

the USB, snapped it, and stated, "Nothing changes, as long as you know your place." My obed

pte

e Bai

ton from the oven, the rich scent of butt

nder the warm glow of the chandelier. Five years. I had spent five years meticulously craft

ystal decanter. A thorn caught the pad of my index finger. A sharp s

ut a flinch. Everythi

ainst the wall. Seven-thirty. Blake had promi

plate. It was blank. I needed a pen, and not just any pen. Blake

quiet hallway, pushing open the h

s were drawn tight, blocking out the glittering Manhattan skyline. B

sk and pulled open the top left drawer,

ural blueprints. I sighed and bent d

harder, the old metal tr

, nearly sliding off its rails. I caught

was empty, but the wood paneling looked

old me never to look for trouble in a man's pockets.

the edge of the

oppe

, shallow metal compartment. Inside

ything that wasn't the latest model. For him to keep this battered piece of plastic

metal edge was freez

ed from the hallw

from my sweaty fingers and

he sound faded. It was just the neighbor's elevator pa

at in his chair and

emanding a password. I typed

ed, emitting a harsh red beep that s

asting copper. I type

een unl

nd shoved the black US

pulled it out and

the screen. There was no folder name, no file directory

s company's financial data from me. I wa

nding date of his

2 attempts

hin. I typed in my own birthda

1 attempt

ed. A line of text appeared beneath the box: Fina

. My fingers hovered over the k

exactly are