The Edinburgh Network – Betrayal, Love and Ancient Power
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 1: The Discovery
Part 1: The Dating App
“Come on, you need to get back out there!” Amy’s enthusiasm sparkled like her untouched wine glass at their regular Thursday night catch-up at Mae’s Diner. “It’s been what, two years since Derek?”
Jenny smiled at her best friend’s persistent matchmaking attempts while absently stirring her coffee. The diner’s familiar warmth wrapped around them like a comfort blanket, the evening regulars creating that perfect small-town ambiance she’d grown to love.
“Fine,” Jenny sighed, pulling out her phone. “Show me this magical dating app that’s supposedly going to change my life. Though I don’t see why I need it when I have Mark.”
Amy’s perfectly maintained eyebrows shot up. “Because Mark’s been ‘not ready to set a date’ for what, eighteen months now? A little window shopping never hurt anyone.”
The dating app’s interface glowed cheerfully as Amy guided Jenny through setting up her profile. The familiar rhythm of their friendship made even this feel natural – Amy suggesting profile pictures while Jenny protested each one.
“No, absolutely not the beach photo,” Jenny laughed, reaching for her coffee. “I look like a drowned—”
Her voice died mid-sentence. The coffee cup froze halfway to her lips as she stared at the screen.
“Jenny?” Amy’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “What’s wrong?”
But Jenny couldn’t speak. Her fingers had gone numb around her phone as she stared at the profile that had just appeared in her feed. Mark’s face smiled back at her – not her Mark, not quite. This was “James, 34, Architect” from Millbrook, looking for his soulmate.
The timestamp showed active within the last hour.
“Oh my God,” Amy breathed, finally seeing what had frozen her friend. “Jenny, I’m so—”
“He’s in Millbrook right now,” Jenny’s voice came out surprisingly steady. “At a client meeting. That’s what he told me this morning.”
The diner’s cozy warmth suddenly felt suffocating as she swiped through James the Architect’s profile pictures. Each one was recent – including one from their weekend trip to the coast last month.
“I need to…” Jenny’s hands shook as she took screenshots. “I need to know more.”
“Here’s your refill, honey.” Mae herself appeared with the coffee pot, her motherly presence usually a comfort. But something in Jenny’s face made her pause.
“You okay there, sweetie? You look like you’ve seen a—” Mae’s voice trailed off as she caught sight of the phone screen. The coffee pot lowered slowly to the table.
“That’s your Mark, isn’t it?” Mae’s voice had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that preceded small-town storms. “The one with the fancy client meetings in Millbrook?”
Jenny looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
Mae set the coffee pot down entirely now, sliding into the booth beside Amy. Her usually warm face had turned serious.
“He’s been coming in here,” she said carefully, “Tuesday afternoons. Regular as clockwork. With a blonde woman in a business suit.”
The diner’s ambient chatter seemed to fade away as Jenny processed this. Tuesdays. When she had her late shift at the library.
“They sit in the back booth,” Mae continued, her voice gentle but firm. “The one by the window. Been happening for about… three months now?”
Amy reached across the table to grab Jenny’s trembling hands. “Three months? Are you sure?”
“Honey,” Mae’s weathered hand covered Jenny’s phone, blocking out Mark’s smiling lies, “I’ve been running this diner for thirty years. I notice things. And I’ve been wanting to tell you, but…”
“But what?” Jenny’s voice sounded strange to her own ears.
“But last week,” Mae’s eyes held a mixture of sympathy and anger, “I overheard them planning a weekend away. To the coast.”
The coast. Where she and Mark had gone last month. Where he’d taken the photo now being used to lure other women.
Part 2: Digital Footprints
“Show me the other apps,” Jenny’s voice had taken on that dangerous calm she normally reserved for difficult library patrons. Her fingers moved across her phone with surgical precision.
“Jenny, maybe we should—” Amy started, but Jenny cut her off.
“No. I need to know everything.” The diner’s overhead lights caught the first tears she refused to let fall. “Help me search.”
Mae squeezed her shoulder before returning to her duties, though her concerned glances kept finding their way back to their booth. The evening crowd thinned as Jenny and Amy dove deeper into the digital rabbit hole.
“Here,” Amy’s voice cracked slightly. “On Bumble. ‘Mike, 35, Financial Consultant’ from Riverside.”
Same photos. Different name. Different career. Different life.
“And here,” Jenny’s laugh held no humor as she turned her phone. “Tinder. ‘Jack, 33, Real Estate Developer’ in Ashton Heights.”
Each profile told a different story. Each one crafted with careful precision to appeal to a specific type of woman. The architect for the creatives. The financial consultant for the professionals. The real estate developer for the ambitious.
“The dates,” Jenny whispered, pulling up her calendar. “Every time he said he had a late meeting…”
“Matched perfectly with his active status on different apps,” Amy finished, her face pale with realization.
The pieces were falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle from hell. Every unexplained absence. Every sudden business trip. Every “networking event” that she couldn’t attend.
“Three different lives,” Jenny’s voice had gone very quiet. “Three different towns. Three different…”
Her voice trailed off as a new notification popped up on her fake profile. A match.
With James the Architect.
The notification wasn’t a match. Instead, a direct message popped up on Jenny’s dating app profile:
“I recognize him. The man in your feed – James, Mike, Jack, whatever name he’s using now. We need to talk. There are more of us. Mae’s Diner, tomorrow, 7 PM. Look for the woman with the red notebook.”
Jenny’s hands trembled as she showed the message to Amy. The diner’s familiar sounds faded into white noise as implications crashed over her like waves.
“More of us,” Amy read aloud, her voice barely a whisper. “Jenny…”
“How many?” Jenny’s question hung in the air like frost. “How many lives is he living?”
Another message pinged:
“Don’t confront him yet. Don’t let him know we know. We have evidence. Bank statements. Hotel receipts. Photos. Tomorrow, 7 PM. You’re not alone in this.”
Mae appeared with fresh coffee, taking one look at their faces before sliding a slice of her famous chocolate pie onto the table. “On the house, honey. Whatever’s happening, you’ll need your strength.”
Jenny stared at her phone as more messages arrived:
“Check your joint account.”
“Look at his Google calendar.”
“Search for Benjamin Walker in Lakewood.”
Each message was like another crack in the foundation of everything she thought she knew.
“Benjamin Walker,” Jenny murmured, fingers hovering over her phone’s search bar. The name felt like another piece of a puzzle she never wanted to solve.
“Here,” Amy had already opened her laptop, the glow casting shadows across their booth at Mae’s. “Oh God, Jenny… look at this.”
A LinkedIn profile filled the screen. The face was Mark’s, but everything else… Benjamin Walker, Investment Consultant at Lakewood Financial Partners. The profile showed a full work history, recommendations, even conference speaking engagements.
“That’s impossible,” Jenny’s voice cracked. “He’s been with Preston & Associates for five years. I’ve been to their office parties.”
“Have you?” Amy’s question was gentle. “Have you ever actually been inside his office?”
The diner’s warmth seemed to vanish as Jenny’s mind raced back. Every office party had been at restaurants. Every client meeting was external. Every time she’d dropped by to surprise him for lunch…
“He always met me in the lobby,” she whispered. “Said it was company policy for visitors.”
More tabs opened as they dug deeper. Benjamin Walker had a local newspaper quote about market trends from last month. Benjamin Walker had spoken at a Lakewood Business Forum just last week – when Mark was supposedly at a training seminar.
Benjamin Walker was engaged to a woman named Rachel Chen, according to a society page announcement from three months ago.
“Jenny, wait.” Amy’s voice held that tone that preceded emotional earthquakes. “There’s a photo gallery.”
The engagement photos loaded slowly, each new image another dagger. Mark – no, Benjamin – stood in a perfectly tailored suit beside a stunning woman in red, the Lakewood Gardens creating an elegant backdrop. Their smiles looked genuine, practiced, perfect.
“Posted two weeks ago,” Jenny’s voice had gone hollow. “The day he said he had food poisoning and couldn’t come to my sister’s birthday dinner.”
More photos filled the screen. Benjamin and Rachel at charity galas, business functions, holiday parties. A whole documented life playing out in pixels and pretense.
“Look at the dates,” Amy pointed, her finger trembling slightly. “This one… isn’t this when you two were supposed to be at the coast?”
The timestamp confirmed it. While she’d been alone in their apartment with supposed food poisoning, Mark had been Benjamin, smiling for engagement photos with another woman.
“There’s a wedding website,” Jenny whispered, clicking the link in the photo description. “June 15th. At the Lakewood Grand Hotel.”
The same date Mark had told her was impossible for their wedding because of an important international client meeting.
The diner’s bell chimed as new customers entered, but Jenny barely heard it. Her world had narrowed to the screen before her, where Benjamin Walker and Rachel Chen shared their “love story” – a perfect tale of business meeting turned romance, crafted with the same precision as his dating app profiles.
“Try his other names,” Amy whispered, her wine now completely forgotten. “James the Architect, Mike the Consultant…”
Jenny’s fingers moved mechanically across the keyboard, each search bringing fresh horror. The diner’s cosy atmosphere felt suffocating as more windows opened, more lives unfolded.
“Here.” Her voice cracked. “TheKnot.com. James Walker and Sarah Mitchell. September 3rd.”
Another website loaded. Another love story. Another perfectly crafted lie.
“And… oh God.” Amy’s hand flew to her mouth. “MikeWalker-LaurenBradley.wedding. December 1st.”
Three weddings. Three women. Three lives meticulously planned in a grotesque parade of parallel relationships.
“The venues,” Jenny noticed, her librarian’s eye for detail kicking in despite her shock. “They’re all just far enough apart. Different social circles. Different photographers. Different… everything.”
Mae appeared silently with fresh coffee, her motherly concern evident as she caught glimpses of the screens.
“The deposits,” Jenny suddenly realised, pulling up their joint account app. “All these venues require deposits. Where is he getting—”
The account balance made her stomach lurch. The savings they’d been building for their own wedding had been systematically drained, disguised as business investments and client entertainment.
“Three weddings,” Amy whispered, scrolling through more photos. “Three rings. Three sets of in-laws. Three…”
“Lives,” Jenny finished, her voice deadly quiet. “Three complete lives. And I’m just one of them.”
Part 3: Messages in the Dark
Jenny’s phone vibrated just as Mae was bringing their bill. Another anonymous message, but from a different dating app:
“I see you found the wedding websites. I’m Lauren. Or at least, that’s who I’m supposed to be to him. December bride. Well… was supposed to be. Meet me at Mae’s tomorrow? There’s more you need to know about Benjamin-James-Mike-Mark. Much more.”
The diner’s evening crowd had thinned to just a few regulars. Outside, February snow began to fall, each flake another secret landing softly in the dark.
“How many?” Jenny whispered, more to herself than Amy. “How many messages? How many women? How many lives has he built?”
Her phone buzzed again:
“Don’t go home tonight. Don’t let him know. We’ve been gathering evidence for weeks. Bank statements, hotel receipts, venue contracts. Tomorrow, 7 PM. Bring your laptop. And Jenny? Check your email. The one you never told him about. We sent you something an hour ago.”
Amy leaned across the table, her face pale in the diner’s warm lighting. “Your old university email? The one you keep for emergencies?”
Jenny’s hands trembled as she logged in. The subject line was simple: “Mark Walker – A Documentary in Lies.”
The attachment was loading when her phone lit up with Mark’s smiling face – his regular evening check-in call.
Jenny’s phone continued vibrating, Mark’s smiling contact photo mocking her with its familiarity. Amy squeezed her hand as Jenny took a deep breath and answered.
“Hi darling,” his voice came through, warm and familiar. The voice she’d loved for two years. The voice that apparently proposed to three other women. “How’s your evening with Amy?”
“Oh, you know,” Jenny’s voice emerged surprisingly steady, her free hand gripping her coffee cup. “Just catching up. Mae’s famous pie. The usual Thursday.”
“Sounds lovely. Just finishing up here in Millbrook. These client meetings, you know how they drag on.”
Jenny watched the dating app’s status light blink active beside James the Architect’s profile. Watched it while Mark’s voice spun tales of boring presentations and traffic delays.
“Must be an important client,” she managed, catching Amy’s supportive nod. “To keep you so late.”
“Massive project, darling. Could be career-changing.” His laugh carried through the speaker – the same laugh she’d just watched in Rachel Chen’s engagement video. “Though not as important as you. I’m thinking weekend plans… that little B&B you mentioned?”
The B&B. Where, according to the wedding websites, James and Sarah had their first weekend away.
“Sounds perfect,” Jenny lied, her voice honey-sweet while her knuckles went white around the phone. “You must be exhausted from all those… presentations.”
“You have no idea, love. Listen, got to run – one more quick meeting. Love you!”
The line went dead as another message popped up on Lauren’s wedding website: “Vendor meeting at the Lakewood Grand. 8 PM.”
Jenny stared at her now-silent phone, reality crashing in. “I can’t go home,” she whispered. “He’ll be back by midnight. He always is on Thursdays.”
“Stay with me,” Amy immediately offered, but Jenny shook her head.
“He’ll check. He always drops by Friday mornings before work with coffee.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Always so thoughtful. So predictable. God, it was all scheduled, wasn’t it?”
Mae appeared at their table, her motherly instincts clearly on high alert. “Everything alright, sweetie?”
“I need…” Jenny’s voice faltered. “I need to be somewhere he won’t look. Somewhere that won’t raise suspicions.”
“The library conference,” Amy suddenly straightened. “The one in Edinburgh next week. You mentioned it last month, but said you couldn’t afford it.”
Jenny’s librarian mind kicked into gear. “The early registration deadline…”
“Is tomorrow,” Amy finished. “Tell him you got last-minute funding. A week away, completely justified. Time to plan.”
“My cousin runs the Heather Inn just outside Edinburgh,” Mae added quietly. “I’ll call her right now. No credit card traces.”
Jenny’s hands shook as another message lit up her phone – the anonymous messenger again:
“Whatever excuse you make, don’t go to any of your usual places. He tracks them all. We’ll explain tomorrow. 7 PM.”
“Wait,” Amy’s marketing background suddenly surfaced. “That ‘safety app’ he installed when you had that late-night book event. The one he said was for emergencies…”
Jenny’s blood ran cold as she opened her phone settings. There it was – innocuously named “Family Safety Pro,” buried in her permissions.
“He said all the library staff were using it,” Jenny’s voice trembled as she scrolled through the settings. “That it was part of the new security protocol after the break-in.”
Mae leaned over, her reading glasses perched on her nose. “Location services, camera access, microphone permissions… oh honey.”
“Look at the login history,” Amy pointed, her finger shaking slightly. The timestamps told a story of constant surveillance – every movement, every stop, every deviation from routine, logged and monitored.
“The coffee shop near the library,” Jenny whispered. “The one he suddenly started suggesting instead of my usual place. It’s… it’s closer to his Millbrook route, isn’t it?”
Another anonymous message flashed:
“Delete NOTHING. Don’t change any settings. We have someone who can help. Tomorrow, bring your phone. IT security specialist. She’s dealt with this before.”
Jenny’s hands shook as Mark’s evening text arrived right on schedule: “Hope you’re having fun with Amy. Don’t stay out too late – you know I worry.”
The heart emoji glowed like a warning signal.
