“I have a team of nine. But they’re all software engineers and graphic designers, except for my clinic ops lead. And my director of engineering.”
“Is that who you asked to generate the false data?”
“No, of course not. I paid a data science professor to manufacture it.”
Townsend can still recall nearly every word of his conversation with Dr. Eileen Drew when they first met at a coffee shop back in early May. She was in her mid-thirties—young for a professor—and saddled with student loans. She had experience generating synthetic data like this, she told him, and the opportunity to make some easy cash was too good to pass up. (Synthetic data—that’s the term she kept using, and Townsend liked how professional it sounded.) She could contact an external data compiler and make it appear as though AutoInTune boasted ten times the number of registered users that it actually had, complete with identifying information and unique IDs. It would cost him, of course, but she promised it would look legit.
She made it seem simple—harmless, even. She made it seem as though this was done all the time. So Townsend shook her hand and wired her the money. A few weeks later, he had his list of over two hundred thousand synthetically generated AutoInTune members, ready to impress anyone who may ask to see it.
For a little while, Townsend thought he would get away with it ... so long as no one tried to audit him. That no longer seems to be a reasonable expectation.
It’s one thing to present those falsified numbers to potential investors, to feel as confident as possible selling a company he genuinely believes in and wants to see reach its full potential. But to hand over manufactured documents to an actual committed investor and pass them off as real—thatis a step too far for Townsend’s comfort. He’s a salesman, not a criminal.
Not to mention that anyone who looks too closely at the data may just see through the smoke and mirrors.
Sitting across from him now, Dad’s old friend doesn’t have to say a word for Townsend to know what he’s thinking:What an amateur. What a fool.At the risk of sounding even more foolish (but unable to stop himself), he asks, “What could happen if they figure out what I’ve done?”
“Well.” Heaving another heavy sigh, Carter interlaces his sausage-like fingers on top of his desk and leans forward. “If this due diligence uncovers any fraud—and it sounds like it will—Sage is going to pull the plug on your partnership, but that’s the least of your worries. They could take this to the Securities and Exchange Commission. Then you’re probably looking at a monetary penalty. A substantial one. You could also be barred from serving as an officer or director of a public company.”
“But will I get”—the words catch in Townsend’s throat, forcing him to sputter them out—“prison time?”
“That wouldn’t come from the SEC. It’s when the DOJ, USAO, and FBI come knocking that you should be worried.”
“And will that happen?”
Carter shrugs. “It’s possible.”
“Fuck.” Townsend presses his fingertips to his temples. He will not cry. He will handle this like a man, like his father would.
“Who else knows?”
The question doesn’t compute; Townsend is too busy picturing himself in an orange prison jumpsuit. “Knows what?”
“Knows that ...” His lips pulling into a tight line, Carter makes a vague gesture with one hand.
“That I committed fraud?” It seems silly, at this point, not to openly acknowledge what he’s done.
“I just want to know who else is aware of this ‘synthetic data’”—Carter adds emphasis to the words with air quotes here—“other than that data science professor.”
His mind immediately goes to Orson Livingston, who’s treated Townsend like persona non grata ever since his investor presentation. “There’s a VC who didn’t seem to buy my numbers. He may have done a little digging, but he’s my buddy’s brother. I don’t think he would say anything to either Sage or the feds.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
“No. I mean, I have one. But she doesn’t know anything.” He pictures Talia’s pretty face then, imagines her brows creasing with concern as he describes the depth of the shit he’s in. Yes, he knows honesty is important to her (especially considering his past infidelity), but he’s been careful not to involve her in any of his company’s less savory dealings. It’s nice, having her believe he’s some entrepreneurial wunderkind.
“An ex?”
Now this is a possibility Townsend hasn’t considered. Could Amanda be responsible for this too? There were some vulnerable postcoital moments when—emboldened by her willingness to share dark parts of her past—Townsend reciprocated, spilling his guts about the struggles of starting a company, of convincing investors and partners to share his vision. He doesn’t remember exactly what he revealed in those early-morning hours spent wrapped around her in bed, but chances are he said more than he should have.
Wait. No.Fuck.How could he have forgotten? Amanda was the one to suggest he use that data science professor in the first place. She even gave Townsend Eileen’s name; they’d briefly worked together at a sushi restaurant when Eileen was between jobs.
They may have been broken up by the time Townsend approached Eileen, but Amanda still knew exactly what he intended to do. And chances were she’d jump at the first opportunity to fuck him with that information.
Carter clearly interprets Townsend’s silence as a yes. “I see. Well. My advice is to provide Sage with the documents requested. Therealdocuments.”
This isn’t what Townsend hoped to hear. “And admit what I’ve done?”
“I’m afraid so. The cover-up is worse than the crime. Present Sage with fake documents, and you’re only compounding your fraud.”
