Myface

By Kevin Landt

Catfishing can be a deadly business, especially when social media mega-influencer Angela Fox has you in her sights.

When Angela Fox's Myface account is selected as Hottest User of the Month, there's only one problem: she isn't real. As the fake Angela takes the world by storm, a group of strangers struggle to escape a twisted web of narcissism, deceit, and revenge.

L.A. hotshot Sebastian Shafer is so desperate to get a job, he creates an elaborate plan to convince his future employer that, if hired, Sebastian's association with "Hollywood socialite" Angela Fox will bring in the sales. The only issue is he needs to convince the world that she actually exists.

Angela draws more attention than Sebastian anticipated when her profile gains millions of followers and fame seekers desperately try to catch her attention. But things really get out of control when a handsome young stage-play director winds up dead. The question is who pulled the trigger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryland Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781735298115

Book preview

Prologue

A woman’s sultry laughter crackled on the phone line. I just want him dead, Norman, she intoned. Will you do that for me?

I don’t know.

I’d be disappointed if I had to do it myself. Don’t make me do it myself, Norman, she said.

Norman was silent.

Norman, will you do this for me or not?

He hesitated, interference crackling through the line as he exhaled.

I will, he said.

Stony silence on the phone line.

I love you, Angela, he said.

Specks of blood are splattered on a computer screen, across the Myface social media profile of

ANGELA FOX, 27, Los Angeles

a stunning blonde, her red lips smiling seductively in her profile picture. On the sharp iMac screen, she’s the epitome of health and beauty.

Stark contrast to the dead man slumped on the granite desk in front of her. Sure, Amir Siddig used to be handsome, but death has already stolen that from him. He also used to be rich, but death has stolen that from him, too. If Amir were still alive, the floor-to-ceiling windows would have treated him to a view of the lush grounds of his Hollywood Hills estate. He’d see palms swaying in the breeze. And his sparkling infinity pool would give way to the brilliant lights of the L.A. basin at night. But the computer screen—Angela’s face—just shines on his lifeless body, filling the room with a pale, oblivious glow.

Chapter 1

ONE YEAR EARLIER—

Norman Jarrett was very good-looking—runway handsome—and he knew it. And from the copious photos splashed on his Myface page, every one of his 10,829 followers knew it, too. Norman had recently celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday, but, judging from most of the photos on his Myface, his followers might have thought he was still sixteen, when his career as a child star was at its height. That star had crash-landed since, but his bank account balance hadn’t. Norman made sure to provide his followers with plenty of evidence of that. And as he casually reclined on a plush, designer couch in the sunlit living room of his luxurious Hollywood penthouse, he held a tablet up against his crotch, anticipation etched across his face.

Norman had a particular problem. His former life as a child star had given him two things—fame and money. He still had the cash. Norman wasn’t one of those teenaged celebs who blew all his earnings on fast cars and addictive drugs. No, Norman had been too smart for that. He’d saved all the money he made from acting, so that today he was able to lead an enviable lifestyle, without having to work to maintain it.

No, the problem was the fame part. Fame was addictive. Fame was the drug he craved. And it had been taken away from him. Once the roles stopped coming, and he was reduced to being seen only in re-runs, the fame disappeared. And Norman found, to his chagrin, that he couldn’t live without it. To merely exist, outside the limelight, seemed unimaginable, a fate too bleak to bear. So now he dedicated his entire being—his time, energy, and fortune—to regain the fleeting fame that’d once defined him.

Norman’s tablet had just logged into Myface, the world’s most popular social media site. As that beautiful, scarlet-emblazoned website loaded, it showcased more and more of his favorite subject:

NORMAN JARRETT, 25, Los Angeles

Followers: 10,829

Following: 0

Suddenly, a new post appeared on the profile. Must be from one of his fans.

Norman Jarrett is a washed-up has been.

A scowl darkened Norman's face as he jabbed at the tablet screen, banishing the offending post to oblivion.

With a few careless flicks of his fingers, Norman crafted a new post, his eyes gleaming with mischief:

Still single 😥 and looking for that special girl.

That’ll get ‘em, he thought. And sure enough, seconds later, Norman was rewarded with one more follower. A triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. Exhilarated, he looked up at a camera mounted on the wall, a small red light blinking rapidly on its compact frame.

What are you looking at? he asked it playfully. I know you’re watching. Norman flipped the camera off, with a good-natured flash of his pearly whites.

Just then, the melodic chime of the doorbell sounded, and he jumped off the couch. As he strolled down the opulent hallway to his front door, he passed by camera after camera—some on the wall, others mounted on the ceiling—all with their red lights blinking.

Max Kane was a nice-looking young man of twenty-three years, though visitors to his Myface profile would probably label him as a geek. With shoulder-length unkempt hair and thick-rimmed glasses, he certainly looked the part. And if the viewers of his Myface profile could see where he was right now, their prejudice would only be confirmed.

He sat in a dark, spartan room, with his bed, computer setup, and a worn couch taking up the precious little space available. Max was broke, a fact he had just been lamenting as he sat at his desk, thinking about his mother’s overdue medical bills, and checking his bank account online—in the vain hope it had miraculously replenished itself.

But now Max was distracted by his computer screen, which displayed a grid of all the live camera feeds emanating from Norman’s penthouse.

Max double-clicked one of the feeds, filling the entire screen with a view of Norman answering the front door. And who should enter but a beautiful brunette in a sexy little dress? Max didn’t bat an eye. This was a regular occurrence in Norman’s life. It was always a different woman, yes, but similar sexy little dresses. Max paid no attention to their small talk, switching from camera to camera as they strolled through the penthouse. Their ultimate destination—the bedroom—also came as no surprise. This was all a well-rehearsed production on Norman’s part.

And as the brunette spread her lithe body across the silky smooth sheets of Norman’s bed, Max said, to no one in particular, Lights off.

Sure enough, Max’s prediction was fulfilled seconds later when Norman echoed, Lights off, and the camera feed went black, a color disturbed only by the ever-present blinking of those small red lights in the dark, gleaming like rubies against a black velvet background.

Chapter 2

Amir Siddig prowled slowly up the aisle, his eyes scanning the rows of passengers as he absentmindedly stroked his designer stubble. A few rows ahead, he noticed an attractive flight attendant with wavy, chestnut hair tied in a neat bun. She turned to him, flashing a winning smile.

Can I help you, sir?

Hi, he said, I’m trying to find the bar compartment.

I can get something for you if you like.

No, it’s okay. I want to stretch my legs.

She turned back. Follow me.

Amir trailed behind her, enjoying the sight of her pert posterior as it swayed back and forth. But the view didn’t last long.

Here you are, said the flight attendant, gesturing in the direction of the bar.

Thanks, Amir said, his eyes flirting with hers before they broke contact. But she was quickly forgotten when Amir caught sight of a melancholy-looking young redhead seated alone, nursing a cocktail.

In his mind, the scene played itself out.¹ He’d already seated himself next to her, and by now the alcohol was doing the talking.

"You must've met so