Gemotions

The email arrived at 3 AM. "Huge success! My gallery opening was amazing." Liam, my supposed artist friend, had been selling “limited edition prints” from his “studio” – aka, his mom’s garage. Rage, cold and sharp, cut through me. I considered the time zone difference, the late hour. This could be perfect.

I found the address online – a tiny, run-down building in a neglected part of town. I found his website. I found the price of his paintings. I sent him an email from a fake account, a “collector” expressing interest in buying a “piece.” I made sure the tone was enthusiastic, but probing. I wanted to see him sweat.

His response arrived within minutes. I read it, each carefully chosen word a little jab in his side.