Until My Last Breath

by Tiffany Patterson

  “Look, man,” Rick began as soon as I sat down across from him.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  “I told you I hated to be the one to bring you this type of information, but I caught something else.”

  “What now?” I questioned, angered already but needing to know what the fuck was going on at Townsend.

  “Your father’s into some odd shit.”

  I snorted. That news was nothing new.

  “I uncovered at least three different houses that he owns under subsidiary companies in the Townsend name.”

  “Houses?”

  Nodding, Rick slid a folder across the table. That was the signal that he was done talking for the moment and it was my turn to do some viewing or reading. Or in this case, both.

  I slid the papers out of the folder to find images of what appeared to be rather unkempt homes. But behind the photos was a stack of papers. The dates on the papers went back years. It looked like a number of different wire transfers, purchases of goods and services. Some I recognized were for Townsend, while some I didn’t recognize at all. There were a number of real estate forms which didn’t make any sense.

  “My father has sat on Townsend’s real estate division for years. Why is he acquiring these properties? And what reason on Earth would he have to acquire these run-down homes?”

  “Those aren’t for Townsend business. At least, not in the way you’re thinking about it. Those homes,” he motioned his head toward the photos while chewing his steak, swallowed, and said, “are where he conducts the business he’d rather no one found out about.”

  Quirking an eyebrow, I redirected my attention at the photos again. “Tell me more,” I demanded, still staring at the images.

  I heard Rick’s knife and fork hit the plate, and a rustling of the paper napkin as he presumably wiped his mouth before speaking. “Your father isn’t one hundred percent on the up and up.”

  “No one who runs a nearly billion dollar company is,” I retorted.

  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?”

  Rick shrugged. “Why do people do eighty percent of this shit they do? Money,” he answered his own question.

  I leaned in closer. “I have more money than I could spend in a lifetime. Deborah knows she has access to more wealth than she could ever imagine. She doesn’t even have to ask, so why would she betray me just for money?” Not to mention the fact that she hardly ever showed much of an interest in money. She continued to work at her full-time job as diligently as she had before we married, and she was adamant about not quitting, either. The very notion that I would demand she quit once we were married
completely freaked her out.

  “Hell, we all need more money. She’s a chick—”

  “Woman. Don’t ever fucking refer to my wife as a chick again.”

  Rick stared at me, unflinching before slowly nodding. “Woman. She’s a woman in corporate America. And she’s from Beattyville, Kentucky at that. Deep down somewhere, she’s gotta believe it’s all a dream or that one day it’ll all blow up in her face. Maybe this thing with Cohen is her way of cashing in before that happens. A sort of insurance policy, if you will. Or maybe she’s truly in love with him and will do—”

  “Don’t fucking finish.”

  Rick’s words halted on the spot.

  I shook my head. “This isn’t right. Something’s not adding up. My wife isn’t involved.”

  “Look, I’ve worked with plenty of spouses who refused to believe their—”

  “I don’t give a damn about any of them. My wife, Deborah Townsend, isn’t involved in this shit.” I slapped the opened file and papers before pushing it all back across the table toward Rick. “Keep digging and come back to me with the truth or I’ll find someone who will!”

  I stood up so abruptly, I knocked my own chair over. Buttoned my suit jacket while staring down at Rick, threw a couple of bills on the table to cover the tab, and wordlessly walked out of the diner.

  ****

  “What?” I answered the buzzing phone on my desk, pissed off from my early morning meeting with Rick. It was just after noon and I still hadn’t calmed down.

  “Mr. Townsend, you have a call from a Jack Lassiter. Shall I patch him through?” My secretary, Cindy questioned, in the neutral, professional tone she always used.

  My eyes lifted as I rose from my chair and stared at the far wall of my office.

  “He says he’s a friend from college,” Cindy continued, mistaking my silence for my trying to recall the name.

  “No. Yes, yes, I know Jack well. Put him through.”

  A few seconds later, the phone beeped and I heard, “I wasn’t sure if you were going to tell your secretary to put me through, take a message or just hang up on me.”

  I grunted. “What are you calling about, Jack?”

  There was a moment of hesitation on the other end. “Well, uh, I recognize the last time we talked, I was rude and a bit of an ass to you and Deborah. I was thinking we could possibly have lunch together and catch up. There are some things I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

  “Is that right?” I rocked back on my heels, still standing and staring at the far wall in my office.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good, Jack, because there are some things I’ve wanted to discuss with you as well. I have a lunch meeting today, but are you available this time tomorrow?”

  “Yeah sure, buddy. I’ll meet you at the Crown Jewel. My treat.”

  My frown deepened. I hated his use of the word buddy but I kept my composure, in spite of myself. “I’ll see you there.”

  I hung up the phone, still staring off into space. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. My instincts were in overdrive. The conversation I’d had that morning with Rick played over and over in my head. Something big was coming. I could feel it in my body. I glanced down at the picture on the corner of my desk. It was of Deborah and I the night we got married. I lifted the frame to stare at it more closely. In the picture, Deborah was laughing, mouth wide, eyes staring up into mine with her arms thrown around my neck. I had the biggest smile on my face as I gazed down into her blue orbs, my arms locked around her waist. It was a completely candid photo. Not one that had been posed for. A raw, real moment that we shared moments after promising one another forever.

  I placed the photo down when my phone rang. I lifted it to my ear, to hear Cindy informing me that the person I’d scheduled my lunch meeting with had arrived. I instructed her to send them to the conference room where the catered lunch had already been set up. After that, I took the time to gather my files, phone my father to let him know the meeting was set to begin, and then proceeded to head out. I took one last look at my wife and I. The twisting that occurred in my gut nearly had me doubling over.

  Rick’s words and photos were still running rampant through my brain.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Then

  Deborah

  Sighing, I placed my hand over my belly, before continuing down the hall from the doctor’s office. Not only was the nausea I’d been experiencing for well over a week still getting to me, but the news my doctor had given me could’ve knocked me over with a feather. What I had suspected as a bout of the flu was much more.

  Because my symptoms hadn’t seemed to be improving, I’d left work early to get in an appointment with my primary doctor. Now, I was headed home. If I could make it without having to stop and throw up every fifty feet.

  Thankfully, I was able to make it to the parking garage of my doctor’s office, in my car, and complete the twenty-five minute drive back to the luxury condo that Robert and I shared without too many problems. I entered the three-thousand-square-foot condo, with nearly panoramic views of the city of Williamsport, and fell back against the closed door. A wistful smile touched my lips at the memory of Robert bringing me back here after we’d married in Vegas. To my surprise, he’d arranged for all of my belongings to be moved into his place before we even arrived home. It took a couple of weeks for us to decide which of my belongings we’d keep and which ones of his. Granted, most of his stuff was more modern, higher quality, and definitely more expensive, but I still coveted everything I’d been able to purchase myself, with my own money.

  “Oh no!” I blurted out, covering my mouth and running as fast as my legs would carry me to our first floor guest bathroom. As soon as I made it inside, and lifted the toilet seat, the contents of my lunch from earlier in the day spilled out of my mouth. I’d only managed to have some chicken noodle soup and a small piece of bread for lunch, thinking that was all I could keep down. Yet, that was a lie, because I’d just heaved it all up.

  I cleaned up the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and slowly made my way upstairs to the master bedroom that Robert and I shared. I entered to our adjoining bathroom to brush my teeth first, to get rid of that awful taste of vomit in my mouth. Next, I headed straight to the bed, work clothes and all. The only thing I managed to remove were the three-inch black pumps I’d worn to work that day. I let them sit right by the side of the bed, not bothering to neatly store them in the closet with my other shoes, as I often chastised my husband for not doing. Pulling back the blanket, I sighed deeply in relief as my tired body burrowed into the coolness of the sheets. I was out like a light. I had the best sleep I’d had in quite a few weeks.

  Suddenly, I awakened without opening my eyes. The room was completely silent. There was no hint or sign that I wasn’t alone, yet somehow, I knew I wasn’t. Someone was watching me. Intently.

  Slowly, I peeled my eyes open. I had to blink a few times to adjust to the low lighting in the room. The sunlight that had been highly visible prior to my nap was no longer there. I couldn’t tell if it was because the shades were drawn or if I had managed to sleep well past my anticipated twenty or thirty minutes. When I turned my head, my eyes collided with the dark brown eyes that I didn’t need more light to recognize.

  However, the look in those eyes stole my breath. Robert stared at me as if assessing my every move. Methodically, his eyes trailed from my face, down my body that was mostly still covered by the blanket. When his eyes met mine again, he rose from the low-sitting, cushioned chair that was positioned in the far corner of our bedroom. I could hear his footsteps as he padded across the carpeted floor.

  When he reached the bed, his hand moved, pushing a stray lock of my hair out of my face.

  For some reason, I was held spellbound. Unable to push out any words as he glared down at me, his gaze both hungry, protective, and questioning. Three emotions that I wasn’t sure how to take all at once. Robert slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.<
br />
  He pulled back. “Tell me that I can trust you, princess.”

  He didn’t yell the words. They didn’t come out as demanding. But there was an order behind them.

  “You can trust me,” I responded, feeling that he needed to hear those exact words.

  He leaned down, his hand going to the back of my head, pulling me to him. Our lips clashed and the kiss and contact sent chills throughout my entire body. I felt the weight of Robert’s body moving over top of me, as my back was pushed against the bed. Our lips never disconnected.

  In the darkness I heard the rustling of clothing and then the warm air of the bedroom touched the skin of my bared shoulders. He was undressing me at such a rapid pace, I barely had time to catch my breath. Within minutes, Robert and I were both naked, my arms around his neck as he stared down at me, his eyes still searching mine.

  “You’re my wife. Mine,” he said harshly as if trying to prove it to the both of us.

  I nodded. “Until my last breath.”

  His lips covered mine and his knee pushed my knee wider, opening my body up to him. I was already primed for his entrance when he began sliding his thick cock deep inside of me. My back arched off the bed, pressing my sensitive nipples against his firm chest. The sensations were all too much.

  I threw my head back against the pillow, moaning out his name. Robert’s lips made a trail of kisses up and down the column of my neck, as his hips continued penetrating me deeper and deeper. I wrapped my legs around his back, fusing our bodies together while he buried his face into the crook of my neck.

  For some reason, this time was different. It wasn’t frenzied or hurried. There was passion but it wasn’t the all-consuming, overwhelming passion that I’d become used to from my husband. His strokes were almost lazy, as he dragged his long length in and out of my body. Every few strokes, he’d adjust his hips to reach contact with a different angle inside of me. He hit my G-spot over and over, making just enough contact each time to send chills throughout the entirety of my body, but pulling back before he pushed too far and made me come.