No phone number. No address. Just a website.
Her brother’s voice. Older, tired, but unmistakably Ben . dearlorenzo.com
She clicked it. The screen flickered. For a moment, she saw a reflection in the blackness of her screen that wasn't hers—an old man with kind, deep-set eyes and hands folded on a polished wooden desk. He nodded once. Then the page went blank, and the browser redirected to a simple white page with black text. No phone number