Because he was not only working out that they were his.
He was working out that everything he had believed since February of 2021 was built on the same five minutes of reading a phone.
So — the messages.
They were real.
I want that first, because everybody assumes a forgery and it was not a forgery. I sent every single one of them.
There are about sixty. They run from the October of 2020 to the February of 2021. They are to a number saved only as P.
And they say things like: can’t talk here. And: same place, nine. And: don’t put anything in writing. And, on one occasion, at twenty past eleven at night: I’ll come to you.
Read cold, on a bedside table, by a man who is tired and looking for something — they are exactly what he decided they were.
P is Dr Priyanka Ramnath.
