Chapter Forty Townsend
Chapter Forty
Townsend
When it arrives, the subpoena feels less like a surprise and more like an inevitability. Of course the Securities and Exchange Commission is investigating Townsend’s company. Of course this would happen on top of everything else.
He’ll forward the message to Carter Bonier, just to confirm, but Townsend doesn’t need a law degree to know that his business—not to mention his life—is utterly, irrevocably fucked.
He wonders who ratted him out. Did Sage Clinic blow the whistle after looking at his books?
Or was it that piece of shit Orson Livingston?
It’s also possible that freaky data science professor decided to screw him over.
It doesn’t matter, really—but still, Townsend would like to know who he needs to make pay after he gets things sorted out.
For thirty-four years, Townsend has led a charmed life, his small missteps and failings expunged from his record before they could fester into anything resembling consequences.
The looks, the money, the girl—he had it all, and while he felt he deserved those things, even he could admit that there was something preternatural about the way his luck ran.
Now it seems as though his luck has run out. Starting with the girl.
From his living room couch, he can see it: the rust-colored stain that’s now a permanent part of his rug.
It’s the only remnant of that woman—that psycho—remaining in his condo, and once his new rug arrives next week, the mark she left will be gone too.
Then he just needs to contact the post office and refuse any letters from her.
He may have to endure Mother saying I told you so indefinitely, but he’s done being tormented by a crazy ex.
His phone rings, and Townsend answers without looking at his screen, expecting Carter. Instead, he hears the scratchy voice of the private investigator Mother used to follow Talia.
“I have an update for you on that woman you asked about, Amanda Reade.”
“I watch the news,” Townsend tells him, restraining himself from adding you stupid fuck. “I know she’s dead.”
“That’s the thing, though.” The guy chuckles. “They never actually identified that body as hers.”
“Okay.” Where is he going with this?
“And my sources say they saw a chick at a rest stop in Houston matching the description. Blond hair? Five foot four? About one hundred and thirty pounds?”
“You just described half the female population of Austin.”
“Gemini symbol tattooed on her right hip?”
This gives Townsend pause. “I think you’ve got bad intel,” he finally says, “because Amanda is dead.” Still, even hours after hanging up the phone, Townsend can’t help but wonder.
He knows Amanda isn’t alive, because Talia killed her . . . but what if she didn’t?
No, she can’t be. It isn’t possible.
But is it?