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The Truth About Lying
Jacinta Borges de Castro. Third daughter of a Portuguese banking dynasty. Raised in Macau—pearls, marble staircases, money everywhere.
At thirteen, she hacked a school system for fun. At sixteen, she was taking freelance jobs, no questions asked.
Then she found out who her father really was.
Not a banker. A predator.
She didn’t pack a bag. She got on a plane, changed her name to Jinji, and never went back.
Henry followed her through the kitchen, past volunteers chopping vegetables and stirring massive pots of soup, to a small office.
She pushed open a heavy steel door. Inside a man sat at a desk. Late forties, Black, with graying hair.
"Vincent Okafor," he said, standing up. "Former priest, current heretic, full-time believer that humanity’s greatest sin isn’t lust or greed—it’s choosing not to see the truth when it’s right in front of you.
Henry shook his hand. "Henry Talbot. Former professional liar, current... I don’t know what."
“I hear you're a man who's tired of pretending," Vincent said, pulling out a couple of mismatched, chipped ceramic mugs. "That's a good start. Sit."
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