Nick

The smell of Chinese food greets me when I emerge from my study. I never told Katie she could order in... But I never said she couldn’t, either. I think I smell hot and sour soup. Must be for me: Katie thinks it tastes like old soap.

“Hey, Dad,” she says, looking up from her homework and a plate of something red and noodley.

“Hey, Katie. That hot and sour soup I smell?”

She nods, gesturing vaguely at a paper bag at the end of the counter. “In there. There’s spring rolls as well.”

“Thanks.” I plop down across from her and tuck in. She must’ve just ordered: the soup’s still hot enough to scald the roof of my mouth. “Need any help with your homework?”

“Nah. Cindy’s coming over soon. We’ve got our science fair project, and then she’s going to spend the night, so we can set it up together in the morning.” She looks up. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just, no staying up talking all night.”

“I know.” No eyeroll today. She must want something—something more than the sleepover. I nibble on a spring roll while I wait for it.

“Dad?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I was wondering... When can Cindy and I come to your work?”

I blink. “You want to...what? Come to a board meeting?” Wouldn’t that be boring as hell for a couple of nine-year-olds? I guess there is Take Your Daughter to Work Day, but....

“No, your other work. The volunteer place. We wanna do it too. Cindy’s sister helps out at the hospital, but she says we’re too young.”

Well, this is new. “Uh...I’d be happy to take you, but I’m not sure how much fun you’d have. It’s just a lot of sorting through food, checking expiry dates, putting stuff in bags—“

“We can put stuff in bags!”

“It gets pretty heavy: there’s tons of cans and jars.” Still, she’s trying to do a good thing. I should be encouraging this. “Okay...how about this? It’s not a good idea for you kids to be doing the heavy lifting, but we got those big windows out front. We usually have seasonal displays, art from the community, that kind of thing. How would you like to come in maybe...maybe Saturday afternoons, and do something with those?”

She makes a show of checking her phone, like she’s seen me do when I’m setting a meeting. “Yeah. We can do Saturdays.”

“Saturday it is, then.” I’m about to ask her what brought this on when the buzzer goes off.

“That’s Cindy! Later, Dad!” She grabs her books and her phone and clears out, leaving me to deal with the remains of dinner. I’ve got a housekeeper, but it feels rude, leaving trash lying around when somebody else has to pick it up. I even make a halfhearted pass at wiping the countertop, but there’s something else on my mind.

I’ve been wanting to text Lina since she rushed out of the hotel, but last night seemed too soon, and this morning was out, given the Weds AM scrawled on the back of her business card. Tomorrow would be too late, so...yeah. I’ve been gearing up all day. Figuring out what to say. Not obsessing, exactly, but...planning. Planning carefully. Something casual but concerned; enthusiastic, not weird:

hey.

hope everything turned out OK after you left.

had a great time btw. hope we can do it again soon.

Oh, yeah. Textual masterpiece. I tap on the edge of my phone, waiting for the ellipsis to pop up on her side. About thirty seconds later, it does. It feels like she’s typing for a long time—maybe typing and deleting. Maybe—

Hey yourself! Everything’s fine: just your basic dead rat catastrophe. Thanks for asking! Rest of my week’s looking crazy, but if you’re free Sunday, we could do that garden date. Or something else, up to you. :-)

Dead...rat...catastrophe? I’d like to say I’m not familiar, but....

ew, dead rat! where was it, in the walls?

also, garden date sounds great. maybe dinner after?

Her reply comes faster this time. Wish I could see her face, know if she’s smiling, relaxed, or if—

Oven drawer.

(The rat.)

Lying across the baking sheet like a loaf of bread. Not a CLUE how it got there. X-P

And dinner sounds good.

Eugh. Reminds me of the time I opened the door to a gruesome little gift from the neighbors’ cat. Or that other time Katie left half a donut in her bottom drawer, and about a thousand ants showed up for the feast.

there’s no escape.

from vermin.

maybe in antarctica.

That gets me curious, so I do a quick search: nope. Not even Antarctica’s one hundred percent rat free. I text her that little tidbit.

LOL!

Makes me feel less slobby.

Knowing it could happen anywhere.

Though I’m now picturing some freaked out penguin with a rat running around its feet, like GET IT AWAAAAAAY!

A second later, a penguin emoji follows. I find myself laughing alone at the kitchen counter. I want to keep this conversation going.

where are you anyway? home?

Library. The ellipsis icon does its dance, and does it some more. I’m starting to wonder if she’s lost her connection when the next message pops up: Had some work to do w/their computers, but now just enjoying the quiet. Nobody here. Feels like the start of a horror movie. Attack of the Giant Silverfish.

ewwwwwwww, don’t say silverfish.

srsly, they are my one phobia.

with their gross powdery bodies and their antennae on the wrong end.

and earwigs.

centipedes.

anything with ass antennae.

sick.

I half expect her to text back a silverfish emoji—or worse, a gif—but she doesn’t prove so sadistic. Sorry. Hate them too. What about you? You at home?

yeah. had chinese food. I pause with my finger on the SEND button. Maybe I should say something else. Something suggestive. Something silly enough she could play it off as a joke if she wasn’t into it, but naughty enough...nah. I go with the Chinese food thing. She’s in the fucking library. Sexting can wait.

Mmm, now I’m hungry.

Haven’t had Chinese in a while.

Or McDonald’s.

Miss their fries.

Can’t remember the last time I had real, cheapass fast food, either. The fridge here’s always full, or Katie’ll order us something—neither she nor the housekeeper seem to be into cheap and greasy. Before I can think better of it, I write back, wanna get big macs for our date on sun?

Her response is quick and sweet: :-)

I like that she’s not a complete health nut—that she’ll do things like French toast and cheesecake, a burger here and there. Tells me there’s more to her than that skittish, nervous streak. Someone probably scared her; someone must’ve....

Another message pops up: I should get home. Before our date, though...there’s something you should know.

oh?

A name you should Google: Joe Bentivoglio. And if you want to cancel after, I won’t hold it against you.

Shit. Maybe he’s the one....

who is he?

The microwave clock ticks down three minutes before the ellipsis icon pops up. It’s another full minute before her answer comes through: The man who took everything I had.

She stops answering after that. Probably on her way home—or avoiding my questions. I wind up back in my study, staring at a page of Google results I wish were for the wrong Joe Bentivoglio... But the churning in my gut tells me they’re not.

Munchausen by Internet: Cancer Scam goes Viral – The Strange Story of Joe Bentivoglio

I skip over that one, and the two that follow—all articles from major newspapers. The fourth result looks like a blog post: Jan’s Blobservations – Everything We Know about Joe Bentivoglio, aka ultramar1ne, aka giuseppe_b. I click on that.

The post’s a little over a year old. Whatever happened, it’s pretty recent. Pretty raw. No wonder she’s not exactly eager to talk about it.

I take a deep breath and start to read.

“THE GRAND SCAM: JOE BENTIVOGLIO vs. THE BLAZING BADGER CYCLING CLUB

“OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: OK, so I’ll be posting my own theories in the comments, but this is what we know for sure and can 100% verify. Information is still coming in from a LOT of sources! Me and Paula and Cherie are checking it out as fast as we can, but we’re only 3 people. For the sake of clarity, I’m not including anything that can’t be proven...but don’t hesitate to speak freely in the comments!

“For those who have no clue what this is about, a) what rock have you been living under?, and b) Joe Bentivoglio, aka ultramar1ne, aka giuseppe_b, is a lying assbassoon who claimed to have cancer and ripped members of the NY cycling community off to the tune of at least $20,000...THAT WE KNOW OF.

“I first noticed ultramar1ne on the BBCC Facebook group. He hadn’t yet been “diagnosed” (yeah, right!), and seemed like an active member in good standing, and hot. (And his profile said he was single, but as we all know, that turned out not to be true.) I’d say hi to him at the post-ride cooldowns at Full Circle, but we didn’t really run in the same circle (y’all know I’m a back-of-the-pack girl; he was a speed demon).

“When it came out that he had cancer, it didn’t seem suspicious. Most of us didn’t even hear about it from him. He honestly seemed like the LAST thing he wanted to do was talk about it. The story was he’d confided in a few close friends, and didn’t necessarily want everyone to know. Which, yeah, makes sense. And it also makes sense that people would spread that shit. Cancer is interesting!

At the same time, the rumor started circulating that he and his fiancée were hurting for cash, barely keeping a roof over their heads. They’d even had to call off their wedding to pay for his treatments.

“There was a collection within a week of the news going wide. This was organized by Mike B, Mike R, and Paula, and I can confirm that NONE of them were involved in the scam in any way. (All have been proven to have lost money themselves.) So far, I’ve had confirmation that all but 4 members contributed (and the 4 I can’t confirm are no longer active, and couldn’t be reached). I think I threw in $50.

“For anyone keeping a running total, that initial pass of the hat brought in close to 3K.

“Next ride, he showed up with his head and eyebrows shaved. I remember noticing the eyebrows and thinking, what a relief, he’s not one of those cancer fakers. They always forget the eyebrows. And I remember feeling like shit for the possibility even crossing my mind. That’s what these types of crooks rely on: our unwillingness to think our friends, family, and loved ones would pull that shit!

“Always, always look a cancer horse in the mouth!

“THE FIANCÉE: We finally met his supposed fiancée, Elina Petrova, the following July. She started showing up to “monitor his condition,” which basically meant riding with him and participating in club activities, without paying any club dues. After her 2^nd or 3^rd ride, she approached Paula about some fundraiser she was having for his treatments. Only when we saw how far she’d actually got, it was like she’d put no effort in it at all. She had a gofundme page that didn’t even have a picture, and a few posters around her neighborhood for a game night at some restaurant. I think she’d raised all of $50. Which should’ve been a huge red flag, but by then, we were fully invested in their “struggle.”

“So we rallied round, plugged the SHIT out of this thing. We amped up the games, went crazy on the food, paid for Facebook ads, plastered the whole BOROUGH with fliers, even rented a hall when we saw how tiny the restaurant was.

“RUNNING TOTAL: $9K raised, $1.5K paid out in ad/venue expenses. I shit you not, we went ALL out!

“The whole time, Joe and Elina were borrowing smaller amounts from individual club members, but no-one had any idea of the scale of this. We weren’t exactly comparing notes. It wasn’t till September that Cherie was like...hey...hasn’t his chemo been going on for a LONG ASS time? Which, I did some research, and it seemed like it COULD go on longer, but a normal course of treatment is 3-6 months. And he’d been doing it for over a year, at this point, while being somehow well enough to go on bike rides the whole time? Something smelled fishy.

“That was when we finally started tallying up the financial aspect of it, and this is just from PayPal transactions with confirmed receipts, NOT including cash gifts/non-confirmed e-transfers/food and other goods:

“RUNNING TOTAL: ~$19,980!!!!!!!!!

“Once we started investigating, really comparing notes for the first time, everything fell apart. We found doctors who didn’t exist, medications that wouldn’t be prescribed for his specific cancer, records of him on Facebook at times when he was supposedly in intensive care...plus, he and his fiancée couldn’t keep their stories straight about whether those scars came from surgery or (LOL) military service.

“Me, Cherie, and Paula were the ones to confront Elina, when Joe stopped responding to our messages. She claimed to have no idea what was going on, and actually went to an ATM and reimbursed me and Cherie on the spot. Paula also confirms she’s received just shy of $900, but never got a response when she asked when she might expect the other ~$1,200, or when the rest of our members would be getting their refunds.

“So far, there’s no solid proof Elina was part of the scam. But the last communication I had with her, she was still living with Joe, and wouldn’t say whether or not she planned on going through with the engagement, so...hmmmmmm.... Draw your own conclusions.

“THE SILENT AUCTION: This is still going forward! Everything’s already set up, and no-one wants their donations back, so...what else are we supposed to do? But proceeds will be going to cancer research, and NOT to these scammers.

“UPDATE: The auction was an incredible success! I want to thank everyone who came out, and everyone who boosted the signal! Your generosity was amazing, and we actually earned $22,672, which may be more than our combined losses...and not a penny of it will see the inside of Joe Bentivoglio’s greedy pockets!

“SON OF UPDATE: Joe Bentivoglio’s social media accounts have been deleted. Elina Petrova’s are gone as well, which doesn’t look great for her. She returned another $2,250 total to a few of our members who were able to get in touch, but hasn’t responded to e-mails or phone calls since the silent auction. There’s still no confirmation she was actively involved, or knew what was going on...but let’s just say she was either in on it or dumb as a box of rocks. Plus, she didn’t start returning money to anyone besides those of us who confronted her face to face till legal action was mentioned.”

I reach the end of the post, and sit there staring. Wow. I’ve heard of this type of thing, but never seen it up close and personal.

I feel cold. I reach for my coffee, but that’s cold too. Actually...did I even make coffee before I sat down? Think that might’ve been there from earlier. Gross.

She couldn’t have been part of it...right? I mean, she wouldn’t—she wouldn’t tell me where to find it, if that was true....

Skimming the comments, a good half of them are about her—first rule of the Internet: never read the comments! Not many are supportive. Most, I’d call downright abusive. They raise some decent points, though: why would she return all that money, if not a guilty conscience? Why wouldn’t she leave the asshole right away? How could she live with him, and not notice the unexplained income?

I should text her.

I have no idea what to say.

I check out a couple of the other articles, and a YouTube clip of a news report, but don’t learn much of substance. There’s a lot of interest in Elina, a lot of discussion of her involvement, her character, her looks...fucking vultures!

I sip my stale coffee. Why does it taste ten times as bitter once it’s cold? Does the flavor intensify with time, or does heat incapacitate the tastebuds?

I’m keeping our date on Sunday. I have to hear her side: I won’t be just another rubbernecker ogling her disaster, refusing to give her a chance. I had a good feeling about her from the start, and I’ve got to trust that. Mark did always say I was a good judge of character.