I felt like a fool. I had thought that The Thieves of Manhattan was a novel—that the real deception would lie in the word memoir on the book jacket. But Jed Roth had switched names and was somehow setting me up to make it seem as if I had written a memoir after all. “Everything will fall out just...
I had never particularly cared for this place, but now I viewed it with a sensation approaching nostalgia. It was a place comfortably free of ambition or expectation. Maybe Conner had been right to seek me out here—even if someone had overheard us, no one would have believed this discussion of bi...