Chloe’s smile stared back at me, bright and youthful, but the name printed next to her face belonged to the woman sitting opposite me.

“How did he get her photo?” I asked.

“He took it from her social media, or maybe he scanned her real passport while she was asleep,” Melanie said.

She reached out and tapped the paper.

“He’s clever with digital editing. He used a template from a site on the dark web, printed it onto a blank PVC card, and laminated it.”

The Denver diner was drafty, and a gust of wind rattled the glass pane right next to our booth.

I pulled my wool coat tighter around my shoulders.

“He used your name to lease the Palm Springs villa,” I said, trying to piece the nightmare together.

“Yes,” Melanie said. “He needed a lease in California, but he couldn’t use his own name because of the background checks and his existing mortgage here.”

“And he couldn’t use Chloe’s name because she has no credit history,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” Melanie said. “But my credit was perfect. Until he got his hands on it.”