Gemma shivered. Violently she threw her body side to side. Her fingers splayed across the stone hearth and she collapsed in a tangled heap on the black walnut floor. Gemma peeked at her client, Mr. Gibbs, through her eyelashes. Mr. Gibbs was slumped in his armchair, hands covering her face. His lanky frame shook with emotion.

Gemma triumphed. She had slid from multilevel marketing to lonely hearts scams to conning gift cards out of grannies but online séances was the perfect grift. A few hours of googling, some moans and groans, and hocus pocus Jemma was two hundred and fifty bucks richer.

But Mr. Gibbs was the real deal. IT millionaire, eccentric recluse whose only daughter died at sea, Mr. Gibbs was a plum ready to be plucked. This was her first time visiting a client on site, her entry to the big time. Gemma pretended to regain consciousness.

“I feel Tess in this house. Places are like thumb drives except they can hold feelings and memories, even entire personalities. Tess is here and she wants to talk to you. This home is filled with her love for you,” Gemma said. She went to Mr. Gibbs and rested her hand on his heaving shoulder.

Mr. Gibbs looked up at her. Mr. Gibbs had not been crying. In that moment she knew there had been no love in this house, she knew there was no daughter, she knew this wasn’t Mr. Gibbs Gemma knew everything.