Lee
Two nights later, Lee passedthe girls’ room and peeked in. Flora was perched in front of a computer screen, her attention laser-focused, face ghostly. Lee approached, saying, “Flora, what are you up to?”
“Oh,” said Flora, startled. She gestured to an onscreen video chat. “This is Maya and Nico,” she said. Maya had pink hair and wore the ASA school uniform. Nico had braces and a T-shirt advertising a coding camp in Oregon. “Guys, this is my Aunt Lee,” said Flora.
Lee waved at the kids, who were connected via video chat on Discord. They waved back.
“Want to see what we’re working on?” said Flora.
“Of course.”
Flora pointed to a photo of a handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a white mustache. “This is an image of the man who Mom thinks is François,” she said.
“Oh,” said Lee, unnerved.
“And there actuallyisa mathematician named François Gauthier who teaches south of Paris. And thisishis picture,” said Maya.
“Wait, your mom’s boyfriend is real?” said Lee, feeling relief wash over her.
Nico chimed in, “Unfortunately, no. I finally heard back from Gauthier. He has no idea who Flora’s mom is. Scammers just used his photos and made a Facebook account with his name and identity, then moved Flora’s mom to Telegram ASAP.”
“They call people like Mom ‘customers.’ ” Flora’s voice was mechanical, treating her mom’s disaster like a logic problem. Lee stared at the man on the screen.
“Jesus,” said Lee, shaking her head. He was handsome, this other François. “But…who arethey? And where’s your mom?”
“We don’t know,” sighed Flora, deflated.
“Theycould be literally anyone—anywhere. Tracing cryptocurrency is possible, but these guys are pros—they’re using multiple exchanges…I’m working on it, but I keep hitting dead ends.” Maya sounded frustrated.
“Anyway, finding Mom’s money might have nothing to do with findingMom,” said Flora, her tone still oddly detached.
“What about her phone?” queried Lee. “Did it…ping or whatever? Where did her fucking phone ping?”
“We’re trying to get that information, but you can’t just call AT&T and get it texted over,” said Nico, punctiliously.
“Someadultsshould have listened the second Flora clocked her mom’s disabled Find My!” said Maya.
All of the kids stared at Lee. She was the adult. But she had thought that coming to Athens was enough. Wasn’t it enough? She was here! She’d involved the police! What more could she possibly do?
“Maybe a press conference could bring attention to the case,” said Flora, looking steadily at her aunt.
“Goddamn it,” said Lee.
26
Flora
Missing her mom, Flora wentto the Monastiraki Flea Market—city streets overfull of the most random junk in the world. Everything was just piled up: Barbie dolls, hideous artwork in elaborate frames, silver, china. A retailer of mismatched chairs. A store of leather jackets and gladiator sandals. Toys, jewelry, books, lamps, musical instruments. People who had seemingly laid a sheet on the ground and piled it high with every imaginable item they could get their hands on, all of it for sale.
When they first arrived in Athens, Flora, Isabelle, and Regan had hit the flea market every weekend, buying one or two items, trying hard to “see the beauty” (as Regan put it) in tarnished lamps and scuffed furniture. Flora’s mom knew how to fix a lot of things—she was crafty—and they taught themselves to sand and paint wood, found a little old Greek lady who reupholstered, and a store calledΤοΣπ?τιτουΥφ?σματος(“The Fabric House”), where they browsed textiles and breathed in the smell of mothballs. Flora loved the little bell that sounded when they entered the store, loved watching her mother flip expertly through the rolls.
This was before her mother stopped leaving the apartment much at all.
Now, Flora stood in the middle of the market, feeling useless, feeling lost.
27
Cord
