Without thinking, Zack heads toward his apartment. As he tries to picture his contact list, he realizes, with a little beat of thanks, of momentary lift and elation, that his own name isn’t anywhere on the contact list. Zack did say his full name when he called the guy, trying to be forthright, polite, project honesty, and now he might pay the price for his politeness. But maybe the guy missed Zack’s last name in the confusion of that first call—lots of people miss a name the first time—or maybe this is a guy who doesn’t miss anything.

And yes, sure, lots of photos, to know exactly what Zack looks like, and sure some of the old texts from his friends might say “Zack,” but his full name is nowhere on that phone, and without a full name, there’s no finding his apartment, and his apartment should be safe.

Zack slows down. Realizing, he moans aloud. No, his phone’s contact list doesn’t say his own last name but it’s got all the Yellins of his family listed—his parents, his grandparents, his uncle Saul and aunt Jenna. If you look down that contact list, it’s pretty obvious what his last name is. Yellins all over the place.

And as far as his address, all you have to do is go to his Google Maps app or his Uber app, look at his previous destinations, and you’ll see his home address stored there, and pretty obvious. That nice, convenient little one-button home address, to help navigate subway lines or road trips—now giving him away.

But wait. It gives the street address. Not the apartment number. Two hundred apartments in his building. Can he head over there safely? Slip into the building, tell the doorman not to say what apartment he’s in if a businessman in a trench coat shows up and asks for him.

And then his heart sinks again. Because he thinks of the new text messages on his phone that say his apartment number, that weren’t there a few weeks ago.

Texts with Emily. Who he’s just meeting. Just getting to know. Just falling in love with.

What apartment are you in?

15H. Come on up.
You’ll love the views.

I love the views even
without the windows.

Haha. Can’t wait to see you.

There in ten.

He’d saved it. Looked back at it several times since then.

Just like the businessman could be doing now.

Dammit. His whole life is on that phone. For whoever is smart enough to explore it. And you don’t have to be all that smart.

He thinks with a new panic, new fear: Is Emily’s last name on there? On any of those texts?

Is her address on there?

No. He doesn’t think so. But he’s not sure.