Chapter 4: Celebrity, Scars, and Secrets

He pitched his voice higher, added a note of panic: “There’s a boy—he looks half-dead. Please, send someone, quick!” Then he hung up, slipped out, and took his place on the sidewalk, playing the victim.

He lay down, feigning near death. When the officers arrived, they scooped him up, muttering in rapid Spanish. Louis let his limbs go slack, savoring the warmth of the patrol car’s back seat.

He played dumb, pretended not to understand Spanish, stammered, refused to give his name. The officers grew frustrated, but confusion was his best defense.

With no other choice, the police sent him to a shelter. They filled out the paperwork, handed him a blanket, sent him off with a tired social worker. Louis grinned—safe, for now.

But comfort never lasted. The next morning, staff came around, clipboards in hand, ready to poke holes in his story.

They were thorough—asking questions, checking records, comparing his face to missing persons flyers. Louis played along, but he could feel their suspicion growing.

Every few days, another round of questions. Where was he from? Who were his parents? What was his favorite food? Louis spun stories, weaving lies and half-truths. But they weren’t buying it.

They warned him: come clean, or they’d take his fingerprints and blood for police identification. That was the last thing Louis wanted. He’d spent years dodging cops. One slip, and he’d be done.

He felt trouble coming. That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, mind racing. He’d wriggled out of tighter spots, but this felt different. He needed a plan—fast.

If they got his prints, everything he’d done would be exposed in a heartbeat. He pictured mugshots, wanted posters, cold handcuffs. No way was he letting that happen.

Jail? Forget it. He shivered at the thought, pulling the blanket tighter. That was the one place he couldn’t talk his way out of.

All night, he racked his brain. He paced the small room, muttering, running through every scam he’d ever pulled. He needed something big.

Finally, he had it. Risky, sure, but Louis thrived on risk. He waited for a quiet moment, snatched the shelter’s phone, and dialed a number he’d found on a poster: the US National Center for Missing & Exploited Children.

He put on his best official-sounding voice, hoping his French accent wouldn’t give him away. “We have found a young American boy, but he does not remember who he is. Can you help us?”

He said they’d found an American missing teen in Spain. Kept it vague, careful not to offer too many details. Let them fill in the blanks.

He described himself—height, build, hair color—then waited, heart thumping as the line crackled.

After some digging, they asked: “Is the child you’re talking about Nathaniel from Texas?” Then came the faxed photo.

Louis watched as the machine spat out a grainy black-and-white picture. The kid looked ordinary, but there was something in the eyes—a little mischief, maybe. Louis smiled. He could work with this.

He compared their faces in the mirror, tilting his head. With a little effort, he could pull it off. He was sure of it.

He slapped his thigh, grinning. “Ah, yes, yes, yes, I’m Nate.” He practiced in the mirror, tried a Texas drawl, then ditched it—it sounded ridiculous.

Next day, he announced his new identity to the staff and police: “My name is Nate Brooks, from Texas, USA.” The words felt strange, but nobody questioned him. They just nodded, jotting down notes, relieved to have a name.

He figured the rest would be easy. They’d send him to a rescue center, he’d freeload for a while, then vanish before anyone got wise. Simple.

He pictured himself lounging in a soft bed, eating hot meals, maybe catching a movie. Paradise, as far as Louis was concerned.

But he hadn’t counted on Nate’s family. He underestimated just how much they loved their boy.

After lunch, a staffer pulled him aside, eyes shining: “Your family’s been found! They’re coming to get you!”

Word spread fast—within hours, the Brooks family knew their boy was alive. Louis felt a flicker of guilt, but he pushed it aside. Too late to back out now.

Nate’s sister, Carrie, bought a plane ticket to Spain that same day. No hesitation. She packed a bag, booked the first flight, called everyone she knew.

Two days later, Louis would have to meet the real Nate’s sister. He counted down the hours, nerves jangling. Could he fool her, or would the whole thing come crashing down?

He rehearsed his story over and over, trying to anticipate every question, every slip-up. Still, doubt gnawed at him. He’d never pulled a con this big before.