John Holland, or so he had named himself, posted his best lines of marketing on fiction sites all over the web. ‘You have to reach the people where they are at,’ his marketing director had coached him.
He sat back in his chair and stretched. As soon as someone went to the website, he’d have them. Tracers locked onto their IP, pulled up all public files, and went digging in private ones.
Business is business and John Holland was the front of a huge identity theft mastermind who made sure no one knew his real name or location. He could be Santa Claus for all anyone knew.
He decided it was time to get a sandwich and drink something expensive to celebrate. Tomorrow he’d be rich again. Maybe Frankie would call off his dogs and he could take his little girl to the horse races again.
Or better yet, he could pose as a reasonable facsimile of himself, found online, and that man could go to the races. He’d needed a new fake identity for a while now.
Today, he could only dream of a better future.