The prisons where Lucy Letby will probably spend the rest of her life

When my editor gave me a typical piece about a new congressional candidate in 2019, that's when I learned about George Santos. I was writing one or more stories about New York politics every day for Newsday's newsletter at the time, so I was happy to have what appeared to be a fast hit.

Santos picked up the phone right away. Still, it was an odd call. While we were speaking, he claimed to be launching his campaign and to be in Florida for a work conference. Though he was evasive on certain ideas, he spoke fiercely about his experience as a first-generation American who spent his whole career working in private equity (a claim he later said was untrue). 

This could have been the last time I heard about or wrote about the Queens newbie if I hadn't written the tiny piece and he hadn't shared it on Facebook. However, Santos's peculiar actions gave me a lot of material to write about in the months that followed. For example, he failed to disclose if he was a resident of the district and raised funds for a "recount" campaign committee in a race that he was certain to lose. He made some outrageous remarks regarding abortion. Even yet, he was getting very little attention from the public. So he would answer the phone even after receiving bad feedback. 

But eventually he began to disappear. He told me straight that running for office again in 2022 would be his "second time's the charm," although he once hurried out of an endorsement interview after spotting me in the men's room prior to a Newsday debate. (His opponent was approved by the editorial board.)

The New York Times broke their sensational report following his victory, which made sense of many of his oddities and lies. But suddenly all I could think of was more questions I had about this guy that had been bothering me for years. It was obvious that he had lied about nearly everything, but why? 

I then started trying to understand George Santos's mentality. He was extremely clear from the beginning that neither he nor any one of his team would be "giving" their voice" (his words) to my book, The Fabulist, and that they had no interest in speaking. Alright with me. I discovered more than a hundred people who knew him, from friends and relatives to past professors and dates, all of whom were happy to have a conversation. I talked to folks who had been duped by him as well as those who simply remembered him as a fun man. I heard about his antics and jokes, as well as how much $200 a bottle of wine he would normally order. Even in the absence of a face-to-face interview, these helped complete his profile—and even if He'd conversed, how could I have believed that he wouldn't tell lies?

I went to several locations looking for him. I spent weeks in Brazil to discover more about his teenage years and his experiments with drag and romance because I realized that Brazil had been a major light in his late adolescence—possibly even a bright period of true bliss. This is how I found myself in a "sauna," where you could buy sex for eight dollars, watching the same kind of show that Santos used to watch and aspire to. The only way to fully witness the origins of Santos's routine was to watch him in person with his mentor, as Santos has minimized his drag past and only has a few pictures and short films available.

I listened to every episode where he actually contributed a few words. He claimed to have liked the fiery political writer KrisAnne Hall, whose writings I studied. I also collected images and footage of Santos from long before he became well-known. I strolled where he had strolled, the now-closed College Point cube where he worked in a gloomy contact center as a young man, maybe reminded of all the places he wanted to fly but could not, by the sound of airplanes taking off from LaGuardia. I observed him in federal court, same like in October, when he wore a funeral-style dark jacket and bright red shoes, speaking to reporters only by blowing a kiss by the stairs of the courthouse. I would alternately feel extremely near to him and very far away from him during the chase, as demonstrated by the times someone showed me pictures of his actual passport and half-naked pictures of him taking a bath. 

We have video proof of you trespassing inside several buildings where my family members reside and leaving messages under their doors. That's how he described my regular shoe-leather reporting. I also knocked on a number of doors in New York, and he wasn't happy about that. 

I did knock on a lot of closed doors and leave a lot of messages, but you never know what happens when you crack your knuckles. I once spoke with a Greek man who was not Gercino dos Santos, but who was so excited about his connection to the entire Santos story that he knocked on a few other portals and got some neighbors out on the landing to marvel for the afternoon. This occurred in an apartment building connected to Santos's father. 

There are occasions when you meet the person you've been searching for. 

I called and knocked till the very last minute in my hunt for the genuine Santos. The day I was meant to turn in the manuscript, I managed to visit Santos's friend in Queens since I needed to double-check some information in a narrative. Santos declined to perform fact-checking as well, incidentally. When I asked for help on that front, he texted me back, saying, "This is your journey." "Accept your shortcomings now, and know that I will dispute any and all of your book's errors."

Even when the book was finished, the hunt went on. For instance, I just heard a funny tale about Santos "bidding" on a bowtie in an unscheduled political raffle from a Nassau GOP official. This occurred back in the fall of 2022, during a gathering of GOP leaders. Santos left with the bowtie, but apparently no check was ever seen by the party.