Page 141 of Less

“Impossible.”

Frustration is the word of the day, and I'm fucking feeling it.

Because for the last week, I've been absolutely convinced Carter Bishop was behind everything.

The weird hang up calls and DMs.

The creepy voicemails.

The accident.

Hell, the bastard already gave me enough reasons to hate him.

The obsessive behavior.

The constant calls to try to book her again for a private concert.

And the way Amanda tenses every time his name comes up?

Yeah, I hate him.

I was so ready to go after him for this.

But now?

Ego slides a tablet across the conference room table.

“Look at the timestamps.”

I snatch it up.

Security footage.

Airport records.

Flight manifests.

“Carter flew into New York after Amanda left Los Angeles,” Ego explains.

“Then?”

“He caught a connecting flight to England.”

Jack, who's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, nods.

“We confirmed it with immigration records.”

“Fuuuck,” I growl.

Because they're right.

I hate it.

But they're right.

No matter how much I want Carter to be the bad guy, the son of a bitch physically can't be in two places at once.

Which means—it’s someone else.