in order to respect the wishes of the people involved in the rumor, I had to find out if they wanted to say anything. In mid-March, I knocked on Sajudin’s door in the woods in rural Pennsylvania. “I don’t talk for free,” he said, then slammed the door in my face. Emails and calls to the alleged love child—who was now, of course, no longer a child at all—got no response. Late that month, I searched California’s Bay Area, trying recently listed addresses. I found only one family member, who said, “I’m not supposed to talk to you.” I tried a work address, too. The rumored love child was employed
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