Rick nodded. “True that. But your father’s hands are a little dirtier than most. Some of those houses, I believe, hold evidence of your father shaking down company owners and sellers of energy products and services to get them to work with Townsend, or to sell to Townsend at cheaper prices than your competitors.”
“Why wouldn’t they just go to the police? Surely, they’d be able to prove what he was up to.”
“They would’ve, which was why your father always held something over their heads. An illicit affair—”
I snorted. “An affair? What man lets another man shake him down over an affair?”
“One whose mistress isn’t a mistress but a mister.”
I pinned Rick with my gaze.
His gaze went to the file again. “Page six of the documents. Third column down.”
I looked to where he’d just said. “Larry McStephens,” I read out loud. I knew the name well. His gas and oil company had merged with Townsend nearly twenty years ago.
“He was having an affair with his assistant’s husband. It’s true,” Rick added when I gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ve got the information to prove that as well. But Larry has since died, of natural causes, and Townsend has owned his company for two decades. There are more instances such as that. I’ve checked into all of the people your father shook down to make Townsend what it is today. Most are either dead or on their way to it. They’re not the ones behind these leaks.”
“So who is?”
He sighed, his expression turning grim as he pushed his plate to the side and planted his elbows on the table.
My heartbeat quickened. I knew I wasn’t going to want to hear this part, but I needed to.
“This is where it gets ugly. In every one of these instances, your father had a select few who knew what he was doing. There’s Ben Jones, John Lassiter, and Mitch Colon.”
“Jones and Colon still sit on the board.”
Rick nodded. “The same board who makes the decision whether or not to oust a CEO.”
I quickly saw where Rick was going with this but it didn’t make sense.
“But what incentive would they have to leak private information to give our competition a leg up? Their interest would be in ensuring Townsend’s secrets stay buried.”
“I was wrong. That last part wasn’t the ugly part. This is.” From the briefcase he often carried, he pulled out another folder and slid it across to my hands.
I hesitated before even touching the folder. I knew I wasn’t going to like what was in there. I just fucking knew it. But I couldn’t avoid it. All of the secrets needed to be out on the table if I was going to clean house.
Like removing a band-aid from a cut, I quickly opened the folder … and the face of my wife stared back at me. I took my time assessing the photo, examining every nuance and angle. She was on the sidewalk close to her job, looking up into the eyes of her ex-boyfriend, Cohen Walker. His arms were draped around her arm, as they faced one another.
I narrowed my eyes before returning my attention to Rick. “One, how do I know this is a recent photo? They dated for two years. Second, what the hell does this have to do with the leaks at Townsend Industries?”
“Good.” Rick nodded. “You’re asking the right questions. I wondered if this information would cloud your judgment so much you’d shut down and fire me before I could explain.”
“So start fucking explaining,” I demanded through gritted teeth.
Rick took his time, wiping his hands with his napkin before discarding it on his empty plate, planted his elbows on the table, and said, “Cohen Walker is John Lassiter’s nephew.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Keep talking.”
“Oh, I intend to. Cohen’s mother’s sister is married to John. He’s his uncle via marriage. Now, here is my theory according to the files I’ve been able to dig up and the images. Cohen and Deborah were dating. It’s widely known that Cohen has this moral high ground in which supposedly hates the wealthy and all of the inequality it creates, or whatever.” Rick waved his hand dismissively. “In fact, that is something he and Deborah connected on when they first met. She is from one of the poorest counties in the nation. I speculate they got together based on that shared belief. Somehow, John recruited Cohen to aid in his plot to take down Townsend Industries, using his nephew’s distrust and disdain for all things wealthy. Cohen then roped Deborah into the plan, and once you two started seeing one another again and then fucking got married, she had closer access to Townsend Industries than anyone.”
I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Deborah rarely asks me about Townsend Industries. She has not now or ever plied me for information on the company.”
“She wouldn’t. No real spy asks these questions directly. They wait until you’re sleeping to dig around in the work files you’ve brought home, or call out of work sick so they can stay home while you’re at work to dig around, have secret meetings, and make calls.”
I pushed out a heaving breath. It felt like the four walls of the diner were closing in on me. None of this made sense. I thought back to all of the late nights Deborah and I shared together, talking into the wee hours of the morning. I shared intimate details of my life, Townsend Industries, and about my family. But she’d always reciprocated. It wasn’t a one-way street. I knew her just as well as I let her know me.
“This doesn’t make any sense. Why would Deborah help Cohen?”
