William Anderson's firm was located in a city called Layton about forty minutes away from the hotel Roberto was staying at in Salt Lake. His trip ended up being a total waste of time.
The man himself happened to be walking out as Roberto walked in and didn't show the slightest bit of recognition. The voice was wrong too and he was at least two or three inches taller than Gold should have been.
He gritted his teeth. After driving all the way out there, nothing!
Anderson had seemed like the most likely candidate too. What sort of person in today's world didn't have social media if they didn't have something to hide?
Whatever. If Anderson was involved in something shady, it was none of Roberto's business. The only person whose business he was interested in right now was Gold's—or, quite possibly, William Sheffield's.
