It takes less than a minute to get Daniel settled on his lap in an empty cubicle. Gabe thumbs through pictures on his phone, showing the boy a triangular-headed fer-de-lance and some brightly colored tree frogs. “The sharpest colors usually mean that it’s poisonous,” he explains to a rapt Daniel. “It’s a warning to bigger animals to stay away.”

“Does it shoot poison from its mouth?” Daniel asks enthusiastically.

Gabe laughs. “No, that would make it venomous.” Daniel looks at him with blank eyes. “It means you shouldn’t eat any of these frogs.”

“Uh-huh. They’re not kosher,” Daniel agrees.

“That’s true.”

“Are you a frog-catcher?” Daniel asks, jabbing one stubby finger at the picture to try to move to the next one. “A zookeeper?”

“That would be much more interesting than what I do. I study peoples.”

“People,” Daniel corrects him smugly. Gabe decides not to argue semantics with a precocious four-year-old. “In the forest?”

“Yes. There are many different groups who live in the forest. I try to spend a lot of time out there with them.”

Daniel considers this. “Is there a shul in the forest?”

“Uh… there are some shuls in Manaus, where I live.” Gabe feels uncomfortably called out. “But they’re hard to walk to on Shabbos, and there’s no eiruv. Sometimes I go,” he adds hastily. He doesn’t want Penina’s son to get the impression that he’s the norm. It’ll be another reason for Penina to be annoyed with him. “It’s really nice to go to shul. I’m always sad when I miss it.”

“I go to shul every Shabbos,” Daniel announces importantly, and Gabe is sure now that he’s being judged by this four-year-old. Daniel twists around, his eyes wide with concern. “Do you have a candy man at the forest shul?” he asks.

“No candy man,” Gabe says, relaxing. He might have overestimated Daniel’s approach to shul. “But sometimes, I find kosher chocolate at one of the markets and keep it as a special treat.”

“Chocolate is good,” Daniel agrees. He scrolls through a few more pictures, examining the underbrush and the visible bugs, when they’re interrupted by a booming voice.

“Dan, the man!” Penina’s boss — Martin — has emerged from his office, a broad smile on his face as he spots Daniel. “How’s my favorite cybersecurity specialist?”

“I brought cereal,” Daniel announces. “And coloring books. And Gabe. He knows snakes.” He points at Gabe, who smiles uncertainly at Martin. He’s pretty sure that Hillel is also a senior member of the team, so there’s nothing wrong with him being here, but he doesn’t know how tight a ship Martin runs.

“I’m a friend of Hillel Pretter’s,” he offers. “He asked me to come in with him today for a project we’re working on.”

“Figures.” Martin laughs. “Hillel’s always working on side projects. It’s a wonder he gets anything done.” But he sounds good-natured rather than resentful, and Gabe relaxes. “Is this for the neighborhood watch? Or the funeral issue? He’s been on the phone all month over some dead guy mix-up—”

“My father.” A part of Gabe recoils at his father reduced to a dead guy and this impossible situation defined as a mix-up. Abba had loved him and Rivi, had supported them even from a distance, and Gabe still can’t grasp how it all might have been a lie. How they could have been living in a stolen house with stolen lives and a father who kept it all secret.

“They’re trying to figure out who he might really have been. Hillel is, I mean,” he adds hastily, reluctant to get Penina into trouble for extracurriculars during work hours.

“Make sure you get Daniel’s mother in on this,” Martin says. “She’s a whiz at tracking people down.” He looks interested. “Your father stole someone’s identity?”

“That’s what we think. He definitely wasn’t who he said he was.” Gabe feels suddenly guilty, sharing all of this with a virtual stranger. It’ll probably never get back to Rivi — Martin isn’t Jewish, and definitely not part of the community — but it’s another person who knows too much now, a tiny step closer to this becoming public information.

Daniel scampers off, and Gabe tosses Martin an apologetic smile. “I’d better go with him.” He darts back to Hillel’s cubicle.

Hillel is still on the phone. “Yeah, we can do the cookout next week.” A pause. “The weather? Not an issue. Let me hock with Yirmy Wilner for a while — he has the space for it.” Another pause. “Yeah, ribs. Salami?”

“Hard at work,” Penina says dryly, catching Gabe’s eye. “Here, look at this.”

She’s found an old record of a birth announcement, the kind that had been popular way before they were born. Ephraim and Hannah Cohen of Lenape Accounting welcome their first child, Avigdor, after eighteen years of marriage.

“It’s from the old local newspaper, back when Lenape Falls was much smaller. Lenape Falls Periodical, it’s called. Back issues have all been scanned in for historical purposes. I haven’t found other references to your father—” Penina pauses. “To Avigdor Cohen,” she amends. “But there are a bunch of mentions of Lenape Accounting. Looks like it went under back in 1994.”

Gabe does some quick math. “I was born in ninety-three. We moved back here from Bearwood when I was a baby. So Abba wouldn’t have been involved in the company. He wasn’t even living in the town.”

“Well, Avigdor Cohen was,” Penina says grimly, and she pulls up another result. “Look.”

It’s an article about a space shuttle called Atlantis, and Gabe is puzzled until he spots the little square of an advertisement in the corner. FAMILY BUSINESS — FAMILY TREATMENT! it proclaims. LENAPE ACCOUNTING: Call Ephraim and Avigdor Cohen for portfolio management.

“When is this from?” Gabe asks, a chill running down his spine. This, for the first time, feels like tangible evidence that Abba had lied to them. DNA testing is reliable, and Gabe hasn’t doubted it, but somehow, this seems so much more real than listening to police speculation.

Penina scrolls up to show him the date in the corner. October 3, 1985. Long before Rivi and Gabe were born. Just a couple of years before Abba and Ima met and married… in Bearwood. Definitely in Bearwood, a full hour and a half away from Lenape Falls.

And Avigdor Cohen had undoubtedly been living in Lenape Falls at the same time. “Well,” Gabe says. He feels a little dizzy with this new evidence. “I guess that settles that.” Instinctively, his hand moves to his phone — to call Rivi, to let her know what they’ve found — but he hesitates. Rivi doesn’t want to know any of this. She’s made that clear.

“I’ll keep looking,” Penina volunteers. “See if I can figure out who your father was in reference to Avigdor Cohen. If this was a random identity theft or something more targeted.”

Targeted. Gabe thanks her and leaves, his mind elsewhere. Targeted. He remembers Abba with Rivi, arms around her tiny frame, helping her point a hunting rifle at a flock of geese in the sky. Why did Abba have a gun? Why was he so focused on teaching them to protect themselves?

Abba had never had much money to spare on after-school programs, but Gabe had still done three years of martial arts at the local dojo. He hadn’t been a very physical kid and had begged out of it eventually, but it had been an odd thing for Abba to focus on.

He thinks about the notepad from Malon Chedvah, the threatening words. I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. Someone had known about Abba. And Abba had been afraid of them, scared enough that he’d cut their vacation short and hurried them home.

What had happened to Avigdor Cohen? And was it the same thing that had made Abba so paranoid?

Why steal Avigdor Cohen’s identity? There were no death announcements, no proper funeral or burial for Avigdor Cohen. How would Abba have known that Avigdor Cohen was dead to assume his identity?

By the time he’s made it to Rivi’s porch, he’s stiff with tension and his thoughts are roiling. Had Abba’s fears all been justified? Was he truly trying to protect Rivi and Gabe by hiding away in the house and teaching them self-defense?

Did he think that they might be a target, too?

“Are you okay?” Ezra asks when he opens the door. Gabe can feel the tension that must be written across his face, and he tries in vain to rearrange his expression. “Where have you been?”

Gabe desperately wants to talk to someone about his disturbing new theory. Not Hillel, who would take this as another chapter in a fabulous true crime story. Not Penina, who he can’t talk to like this. He wants to talk to Rivi, who is as embroiled in this as he is. He wants to talk to Ezra, who is a calming, sensible influence on them both.

But Rivi doesn’t want to talk. And she would never forgive him if he brought Ezra into this. “Just out with Hillel,” Gabe says vaguely.

Ezra eyes him with a rebbi’s regard — that keen instinct that always seems to know when someone is up to something — but all he says is, “If you say so.”

His suspicious gaze follows Gabe into the house. Gabe steadies his breathing and pushes the rising dread from his mind.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 911)