Chapter Fourteen Meera
Chapter Fourteen
Meera
“Explain to me again,” Meera says, “why Townsend doesn’t want to go to the police?”
It’s Friday, and she has a shit ton of work to finish up before the weekend, not to mention an employee seminar about corporate policy to attend this afternoon.
But she’s finding it tough to concentrate, what with the news of Amanda’s threats fresh in her mind.
What’s worse: Neither Talia nor Townsend seems to be doing anything about them.
Talia stands next to her in the Cuff office kitchenette, leaning against the counter as they wait for the coffee to finish brewing.
“He doesn’t want any more attention from the police.
” She shifts from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable.
“And he didn’t say this, but I think he’s a little afraid of them going through their messages and seeing that photo. The one with the gun on the dashboard.”
There’s no need for Talia to specify; Meera sees that photo every time she closes her eyes. It makes her queasy, thinking about her best friend sharing a bed with a man who not only owns a gun but isn’t afraid to use it. Or, at least, threaten to use it.
Despite what Talia seems to believe, Meera isn’t a bra-burning man-hater.
Her failed marriage hasn’t turned her against everyone with a Y chromosome or compelled her to write off half the population as chauvinist pigs.
Even after being cheated on by Hari, Meera continues to date and enjoy the company of men (though admittedly, she’s been doing very little of that as of late).
Being male is not cause for disdain in her eyes.
No, her problem is with the men who use their privileged status and leaner muscle mass to intimidate, and dominate, and inflict pain.
Meera has come to terms with Talia’s boyfriend being an asshole. What she can’t accept is the idea that Townsend could potentially be driven to kill.
“Did you ask him about that gun?” she asks Talia now. “Was it real?”
“I didn’t. But even if the picture was real, I know his threat wasn’t. He would never actually hurt someone.”
“And did you show him all the messages you’ve gotten over the past few days?”
“Most of them, but not all. I don’t want to freak him out.”
“Are you freaked out?”
“Yes.”
“Then he should know that,” Meera insists. “It’s weird, frankly, that he isn’t more concerned. Between that and all the shady shit going on with his company—”
“Shady shit? What are you talking about? He just had a meeting with a major telehealth company for a potential partnership. He said it went really well.”
Meera looks at Talia, who blinks back at her, genuinely confused. Of course, Meera reminds herself. As far as Talia knows, AutoInTune is going swimmingly. That’s because Meera hasn’t told her anything about the message she’d received yesterday on Reddit from LivingstonTheDream.
It took a few days, but eventually, Meera got her response, explaining what the user found suspicious about Townsend’s company data. The numbers just seemed too good to be true, the message read. I’m pretty sure AutoInTune doesn’t even get as many site visitors as he claimed to have as members.
Too good to be true—that’s exactly what Talia said of Townsend when she first met him. If only she knew how right she was. But Meera knew she couldn’t just take a stranger on the internet for their word. Do you have proof?
No proof, the person wrote. Just a hunch and years of experience doing this shit.
A hunch wasn’t much, but it was something. And whoever LivingstonTheDream might be, Meera had to assume they didn’t have a personal reason for wanting to see Townsend fail. Not like she did.
Meera can’t get into AutoInTune with Talia, not now. She’s already lost too much of her lunch break to parsing Townsend’s idiotic behavior. “Point being, I don’t think Amanda’s threats should be taken lightly, by him or by you.”
In the three days that have passed since that first “Amy Stake” email hit Talia’s inbox, she’s gotten at least a dozen more messages from Amanda, each one more disturbing than the last. On Wednesday, Amanda told Talia she still knew the key code for Townsend’s condo.
On Thursday, she threatened to use said key code when Talia least expected it.
And just this morning, she told Talia to check behind the shower curtains and under the bed when she got to Townsend’s place, because she could never know where Amanda might be hiding.
It’s fucked up, these mind games, and looking at Amanda’s photos online, you’d never guess such a pretty girl was capable of such fuckery. But apparently she is—and apparently Townsend is too concerned about his own reputation to ensure his girlfriend’s safety.
Meera slaps her palm on the coffee machine, suddenly frustrated. “This piece of shit is taking forever. I’m just going to go out for lunch and get coffee there. Want to join?”
Talia shakes her head no. “I grabbed something earlier. Thanks, though.”
“You did?” It has been a busy day, but still, Meera doesn’t remember Talia stepping out. “When?”
“I don’t know.” Talia looks at her watch. “A little before noon? Does it matter?”
“No, I guess not.” It bothers her that Talia disappeared from the office and Meera didn’t even notice.
Somehow, Meera feels responsible for Talia when they’re at work, especially with Amanda ramping up her threats.
Outside of work, she considers it Townsend’s responsibility to protect Talia—though really, Meera isn’t confident he’s pulling his weight.
Here, at least, it’s on her to keep Talia safe.
“I’m walking to Manana and getting something to go,” says Meera. “You’ll let me know if you get any messages from you-know-who in the meantime?”
“Sure,” Talia says, but her thoughts seem to have already drifted elsewhere.
After work, she and Talia head to the parking lot. Meera’s car is in the shop again—her check engine light keeps flashing, because that’s just her fucking luck—and Talia promised to drive her home. Always a dependable friend, even while being harassed by a total psychopath.
“Did that seminar make you feel nervous at all?” Meera asks, referring to the end-of-day all-staff meeting. “Do you think the company is doing a security audit for a reason? Like, they know something?”
“Know something?”
“About”—Meera glances around the parking lot, then lowers her voice—“us reading Townsend’s messages.”
“Oh.” Talia frowns, fishing her keys out of her purse. “I doubt it. Don’t they do one every year?”
“I guess so. It’s just something about the way the announcement was made. Like they expect to find something.” Meera sighs. “I’m probably just feeling extra neurotic.”
It isn’t often that the Cuff staff is corralled into the auditorium.
The last time was earlier in the year, after Cuff introduced an AI-based chat feature and company shares fell nearly 50 percent.
During that meeting, Cuff’s COO, Betty Jeong—a pink-haired MIT grad with a penchant for colorful power suits—appeared jumpy, chastened; this time, she was as cool and commanding as a seasoned schoolteacher.
And though Meera can’t say for sure, she could have sworn that when Betty delivered her final warning (“Any breaches in security will be detected, and they will not be tolerated”), she looked Meera dead in the eye.
As though she knew exactly what Meera had done.
Talia pats her shoulder. “I wouldn’t stress about it.”
“Right. Like you said, the security audit is probably just a routine thing.” You’ve been careful about using your credentials to hack Townsend’s messages, she tells herself.
You’ve covered your tracks. There’s no reason you should be caught.
Still, the thought of the company unearthing her illicit activity makes her feel itchy all over.
“Oh, my God,” Talia stops short. “Do you see that?”
“See what?”
“My car. Look at my car.”
It takes Meera a moment to spot Talia’s silver Volkswagen Jetta in the lot, but when she does, she lets out an involuntary gasp. All four tires have been slashed.
Talia approaches the car slowly, as though afraid it might detonate—or afraid someone is hiding behind it, waiting for her.
Meera follows close behind, noticing something as she nears. “Is that a note on the windshield?”
“Better than a parking ticket.” Talia laughs, but the sound is hollow; she’s clearly shaken.
Meera waits a moment, giving Talia a chance to grab the note, but when she doesn’t, Meera picks it up instead. Trying to keep her voice steady—it feels important to be the strong one right now, for Talia’s sake—she reads it out loud.
“‘First your tires, next your throat.’”
Talia’s hand flies to her neck, clutching it protectively. “Is it signed?”
“No, but I think we both know who wrote it.” Meera folds the paper in half and hands it to her friend to see for herself.
Talia takes it without looking at it. “What should I do?”
“Tal, we don’t have a choice here. We have to call the police.”
“But Townsend—”
“—is being selfish,” Meera finishes for her. “You two are out of your depth here. If he really cares about you, he will recognize that.”
Talia considers this. “Okay,” she says finally. “Let’s call.” She gestures to the car. “Doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to give you a ride home, though.”
“That’s the least of my concerns, Tal,” says Meera. “My concern right now is getting this person to leave you the fuck alone.”
Talia gives her a weak smile, and Meera feels a strange swell of pride. She knows she shouldn’t think like this—she and Townsend are not competitors, vying for Talia’s affection—but still, the thought bubbles up unprompted: I’ve won this round.
The Austin Police Department is too far from the Seaholm District to walk, so they take an Uber.
On the ride there, Talia is silent, and Meera fears Talia might be resentful she’s making her do this—but then she notices her friend picking at her cuticles.
She’s not angry; she’s nervous. That’s understandable.
Meera sets her hand on top of Talia’s, her way of saying I’m here.
And when Talia takes her hand, giving it an appreciative squeeze, all the anxiety that’s been fluttering in Meera’s gut since the employee seminar ebbs away.
Right now, she needs to be present, with Talia, not lost in her own worries.
Once inside, Meera feels less certain than she did in the parking lot, but she doesn’t let Talia see her doubt. Instead, she charges ahead with conviction, like she’s here every day reporting threats posed by an unhinged stalker.
“Can I help you?” The man behind the front desk seems bored with them already, though it’s hard to read his tone through the thick layer of bulletproof glass that separates him from them.
It’s insulting, really, that glass. Like Meera and Talia are a threat to this man, rather than victims in need of an authority figure’s help.
Talia speaks before Meera can. “Is Detective Harris available? Or Detective Burrows?”
“Are they—?”
Talia nods, somehow already anticipating what Meera is going to ask. “The officers who came to Townsend’s place to ask about Amanda.”
“I’ll check.” Without moving from behind his desk, the man speaks into his radio, his words mumbled and unintelligible. A moment later, a tall Black woman in a navy suit appears.
“Detective Harris, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”
“Townsend Fuller’s girlfriend, correct?” Harris looks Talia up and down and then glances curiously at Meera. “I remember.”
“Right. Talia Danvers. And this is my friend, Meera Ratnam.”
Harris tilts her head, as though waiting for a punch line.
“You came to question Townsend after Amanda Reade’s sister reported her as missing but . . .”
A beat passes. “But what?” Harris pushes.
Talia takes a deep breath and then pushes the words out all at once—and though she only says what Meera already suspects, Talia’s confession still raises goose bumps on her skin.
“She’s not missing, or dead. She’s still alive, and I think she wants to kill me.”