“There is no story,” Harper said, exacerbated. “Okay, so I’m seeing Jacob Latimer. That’s hardly a story, unless you’re in Charlie Nelson’s league.”
“Nelson is a photographer for the society and entertainment section of the Chronicle. I’m the society and entertainment editor for the Gazette. Are you putting down my beat?” Ruth demanded.
“No, I just—”
“Give it a rest, Ruth,” Burt said disparagingly. He squeezed past the other woman and plunged into Harper’s office. “We’re not talking about society gossip. We’re talking about real news,” he said, his pale eyes shining with excitement. “I did what you said, Harper. I dug for a story. I think I found something that might be worth pursuing. Can we talk?”
His obvious eagerness and excitement alarmed Harper. But what could she say, really? If Burt was working on a story, and it was newsworthy, it was her job to hear him out and guide him.
“Okay. Ruth, can you give us some privacy please?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been digging around for something on Latimer for years. I at least deserve to—”
“Ruth, please?” Harper interrupted. “Let me do my job?”
“You’ve been doing more than your job, McFadden,” Ruth snapped. She looked at Burt. “If I were you, and if I really had a story, I’d take the lead to Sangar. At least you’d know it’s not going to be quashed in Latimer’s bed tonight.”
“Get out, Ruth,” Harper insisted angrily.
“I want to talk to you when you’re finished,” Ruth told Burt pointedly before she exited with a dramatic slam of Harper’s door.
Harper plunged into her chair with an annoyed sigh. She waved wearily at a chair in front of her desk.
“What have you got, Burt?”
Burt looked a little sheepish once he’d sat. “You’re not mad at me, are you? For attacking the Latimer stor
y? I was gobsmacked when Ruth told me about the photo in the Chronicle this morning. It’d suck if my timing on this was all wrong.”
“Don’t worry about that stupid photo or your timing. If you have something solid, spill it.”
“Well, Ruth is right about one thing. Latimer does put Tahoe Shores on the map, just by living here. But I didn’t know that you and he were—” He gestured with his hand. Harper rolled her eyes.
“Do you want to go to Sangar with this instead?” she demanded.
“No. Sangar will shut me down.”
“You’re not boosting my confidence much, if you’re saying Sangar wouldn’t give you the time of day for whatever you’ve got.”
“No . . . no, I still want you to hear this. Of course I do. You’re my editor, right?” He leaned forward eagerly. She experienced a mixed sense of dread and curiosity. As a reporter, she recognized that look on his face. Burt really thought he was onto something.
“Simply put, I got lucky. You know how there was that big blowout with the Clint Jefferies insider trading scandal, and how Latimer made his first millions off it, how the SEC investigated, but found no hard evidence to prosecute Jefferies? And how ever since then, Latimer refuses to associate with Jefferies?”
She thought of the barely contained fury on Jacob’s face when he’d seen Jefferies at the opera. “Yes,” she said, her curiosity growing despite her discomfort at Burt’s excitement . . . at this topic in general.
“Well, part of the problem with investigating Latimer is that he seems to just pop up out of nowhere. The earliest reports of him are when he first went to college at MIT. By the time he went to MIT, his name was Jacob Latimer. That’s the name that was used in the official records for the SEC’s insider trading investigation against Jefferies—although his previous name was listed there, as well. Local legend has it that Latimer was a sort of protégé to Jefferies, and that Jefferies favored him, treated him like a son, even. But the local records don’t show a Jacob Latimer living or attending grade school or high school anywhere near Jefferies’s vacation property. There are rumors that Latimer was adopted and lived in proximity to Jefferies, but adoption records are closed. Shut tight, actually. That’s the brick wall that most reporters run into when trying to find out more about his past.”
“So Latimer wasn’t his adoptive parents’ name?” Harper asked quietly.
“No. Latimer’s former name is listed in the SEC investigation, even if it is buried pretty deep in the details. It’s Sinclair. And there is a Jacob Sinclair listed as attending school at a Charleston High School. I’m assuming that was his adoptive family’s name, even though like I said . . . the official adoption records are sealed tight.”
“So Latimer changed his name from Sinclair to Latimer?” Harper said, puzzling it out in her head. He’d said he loved his adoptive parents, even if their advanced years and medical issues had prevented Jacob and them from getting as close as they might have. Why had he wanted to change his name after they’d passed away? Why was he so intent upon denying his past . . . upon remaking himself in a new image?
“Yeah, the name Sinclair isn’t breaking news. A select few reporters have mentioned that in stories before and drew the connection between Jacob Sinclair and Jacob Latimer. It’s not a huge secret, just one of the many snags and barriers in Latimer’s history that throws a lot of reporters off the mark. Who he was before he was Jacob Sinclair . . . that remains under wraps.”
“Why does it matter what his name was before he was adopted?”
Burt shrugged. “Why does he seem interested in people not putting the microscope on his origins? Maybe he’s got something to hide . . . either about himself or his biological parents?”