Winning My Ex-Crush

Laird’s POV

I visited a small office in one of the office building rows at the edge of Brooklyn. The office building had three floors and was divided into several small offices. I walked up the stairs of the old building to the top floor.NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.

One of the offices had a rusted door and dirty glass covered by yellowed blinds. “Private Investigator: Matthew Logan” was written on a white nameplate with blue lettering next to the door.

I knocked on the door and entered without much greeting or pleasantries. As I entered, a man with black hair immediately lowered the newspaper he had been reading onto the desk.

“Ah, Laird!”

“Hey, Matthew,” I said as I sat on one of the shabby sofas with cracked and torn leather on the edges.

“On time. I just finished reading the lottery announcement in the newspaper.”

“Did you get it?”

“Not yet. I guess I still need time to map out the counter with the highest winning odds,” he sighed deeply and sat down on the same worn-out sofa in front of me.

“Certainly, that doesn’t mean you need more time for my request, right?”

Matthew looked at me with slightly widened eyes and then chuckled.

“‘Nah.” He took a brown envelope from a drawer under the coffee table. “See it with your own eyes-a miracle brought to life thanks to my brilliant investigative skills.”

His chest puffed out, his chin lifted, and he smiled broadly as he handed me the brown envelope. I reached for it, but Matthew’s hand moved faster to pull the envelope back to his chest.

“Money?”

Hearing his words, I snorted. I reached into my pants pocket and took out my wallet. I pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and handed them all to him.

“Are you just going to spend it on buying lottery tickets?” One of my eyebrows was raised.

“That and a few other things.” The money then moved into his shirt pocket.

“You know that the lottery is just a scam, right?”

“I know, but the excitement of getting it after mapping it out sounds more impressive to me. Think of it as an investment.”

“You know you’re fooling yourself by calling it an investment that will be profitable, right? There’s nothing good in a monkey business like that. It’s as simple as gambling.” This time, Matthew finally handed me the brown envelope.

“This is more than that, Laird. Trust me.”

I had known Matthew since we were in Harvard Law School, specifically in the criminal law class. Funny enough, Matthew was more interested in becoming a private detective than in staying a young prosecutor. He always said that his brilliant analytical skills could even crack the lottery system, but I called it gambling addiction.

Anyway, Matthew was indeed an expert in analysis and digging up information. To put it bluntly, he was good at tailing people and finding information gaps. He had a knack for influencing people to give him information, and he used his eyes accurately and meticulously.

Now, once again, Matthew Logan’s renowned skills among New York City lawyers were evident. I looked at several photos of Alan, some official letters, and several court documents.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Yes. The man you’re asking about has had a new identity for the past six years. His last name does seem related to Schmidt’s hotel group, but Alan’s name itself is not listed among the shareholders or heirs.”

“So, the options are either he’s using a fake identity or he…” I furrowed my brow at the possibility that crossed my mind.

“Changed his name; that’s the most likely scenario. A person with a fake identity wouldn’t dare to publicly own several active legal companies. Besides, he passed the court check in his DUI case last month.”

“What about the Schmidt hotel group data? Is there any connection to Amy Schmidt?”

“There’s no news or article. Their family is quite closed off, and since the pandemic crisis, all shares have been sold to others, and Amy herself is now married to a rich big senator in Massachusetts. Her husband is twenty years older than she is, if you want to know.”

“Too much information, pal.” I scoffed at the information about Amy’s husband. “What about his previous name before it changed?”

I opened the printed online article from the local newspaper that Matthew had provided. The news about the Schmidt Hotel Group shareholders meeting briefly discussed the changes in share ownership in an article that was probably written in no more than a thousand words. It seemed like they made the article just for formality to meet the company’s legal obligations, not for real journalistic news.

“Well, there it is. I haven’t had a chance to go to the Andover census office. They don’t make their data public.” Matthew clicked his tongue.

“Of course, it would be covered up, but you know other ways to track it, right?”

“I could check the legal name change court records, but I’d need about three weeks for an intensive approach.” He raised both hands and bent two fingers slowly at the word intensive that he said.

“Hmm, how intensive is your approach?” I reflexively raised one eyebrow.

“Lodging, gas, three meals a day, and entertainment expenses for the staff; I’d estimate around a thousand dollars.”

“I’ll give you three hundred now and the rest once you get the previous name.” I reopened my wallet.

“Hey! That’s not enough for my accommodation.” He frowned and protested with an annoyed tone.

“That’s why I suggest you save and not squander money on buying lottery tickets anymore. Trust me, two weeks with six hundred dollars should be enough to survive in Andover.”

I handed him three more hundred-dollar bills. He scowled, but his hand quickly took the money and put it back into his shirt pocket. Our relationship was primarily transactional, but I still worried about his lottery gambling addiction as a good friend. Not close enough for me to recruit him into my company, but close enough to be concerned about his mental health.

“If you need additional leads, maybe you could check the Whitehill Academy student records, my alma mater. Look for graduation years between seven and nine years ago. See if there’s any matching data with birthdate, address, and other ID details.”

“You’re from the same alma mater?” His eyes blinked momentarily.

“Yup.”

“But you didn’t recognize that name from school?” he asked.

“Yup. I guess I never heard that name in school except for Amy Schmidt.”

“Hmm, interesting. I’ll go there later to find out.” Matthew rubbed his smooth chin.

“Alright, let me know again when you’re ready to receive the remaining payment.” I put all the documents back into the brown envelope.

“Yeah, as soon as possible.” He clicked his tongue and stood up. He walked to the desk and then suddenly turned back to me.

“Oh, right, Laird. There’s one more thing that might be important or not to you.”

“What is it?” I asked as I got up from the sofa and buttoned my suit.

“Prosecutor Golden also seems to be looking into Alan Schmidt. Yesterday, I met his assistant at the census office, and the officer was surprised to see me carrying the same name as his assistant that day.”

“Recently?”

“Yes, recently. And the DUI case was already sentenced last month, right?”

“What else could he want?” I asked, frowning.

“Remember the name Prosecutor Golden; you know it’s because he’s looking to tear someone apart down to the bone. I suggest you cooperate with him to match the data you both have on Alan.”

“Cooperate with him?” I immediately scoffed. “Never.”

After saying that, I opened the door of Matthew’s office and nearly slammed it shut. Although his intention was good to catch Alan, I didn’t think I could cooperate with that old geezer. Especially if my father found out, he’d surely kill me.