Page 11 of Her Last Confession

“I…I have my reasons.”

“Good,” Rachel said. “Now explain them.”

“How about you lighten up?” her husband said, trying to put some bass in his voice but failing.

“Fine,” Rachel said. “Let’s start over. You are aware, correct, that Sandra Mitchell was killed last night?”

“Yes,” Alana said, her bottom lip trembling.

“Okay. Well, local PD managed to unlock her phone. And on her phone, there was a text message she received last night that told her to go to the location where she was killed. That text came from you. Or…your phone, at least.”

"That's impossible." Alana's voice cracked. She fumbled in her pocket and produced her phone, fingers trembling as she unlocked it. "I never sent her any messages that night. Look—you can check. I've had my phone with me the whole time." She thrust the device toward Rachel, nearly dropping it in her haste.

Rachel leaned forward, studying Alana's face more than the phone she was frantically scrolling through. The woman’s hands were shaking and her fear was genuine, but there was something else there too—guilt, perhaps? But Rachel could see that there were indeed no texts to Sandra last night. The last text she’d sent Sandra had been two days ago, and it had been a gif of a tired, cartoon cat.

She could have simply deleted the text,Rachel thought.Or I suppose her phone could have been hacked remotely…

"Okay…so then tell me this,” Rachel said. “Why would Sandra believe a text asking her to meet you in such a remote location at night?"

Alana's eyes darted to her husband, who had taken up a protective stance behind her chair. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind, and Rachel could almost see the moment the decision was made. The woman's shoulders slumped slightly, as if surrendering to inevitability.

"We found something," she said quietly. "At work. Carson Industries—they're one of our biggest clients. The numbers... they didn't add up. Sandra was the one who noticed it first." She swallowed hard. "We've been meeting in private to discuss it. Large-scale embezzlement, cooking the books. Millions of dollars. It was really big, and we had no idea how to properly approach it…no idea where to go or what to do. If she got that text…maybe she thought I wanted to meet here there to talk about something new? I…God, I don't know…"

Mike's hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently. The gesture seemed to give her strength to continue.

"It started small," Alana went on, her voice barely above a whisper. "Discrepancies that could have been clerical errors. But Sandra kept digging. She was always thorough, always..." Her voice caught. "She found a pattern. Money being moved through shell companies, fake vendors, inflated expenses. All the hallmarks of systematic fraud."

"You were going to report it?" Novak asked.

Alana nodded, then seemed to collapse in on herself slightly. "I was getting scared. The amounts we were finding... people kill for less. Sandra wanted to move forward, but I..." She pressed her hands to her face. "And now she's dead. Oh God, she's dead."

Rachel gave the woman time to collect her thoughts and her breath before going on. “Alana, I wonder…have you ever heardof EndLight before?" Rachel asked, watching carefully for any reaction.

"No," Alana said, dropping her hands. Her mascara had smudged slightly, leaving dark smears under her eyes. "I mean…not until today. Not until I saw the news this morning. Those... those suicide pods? Is that really how—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Mike spoke up for the first time since letting them in. "We've got kids. Upstairs, playing. Should we be worried?" His hand hadn't left Alana's shoulder, and Rachel noticed how his fingers tightened protectively.

It took Rachel a moment to process the question. But then she realized that Mike and Alana had come to the conclusion that Sandra had died as a result of whatever financial fraud they’d stumbled across. He saw no reason why they might not be next.

Rachel and Novak exchanged a look. "We'll speak with local PD and have a patrol car drive by regularly," Novak assured them. "And Mrs. Townsend, we'd like you to forward any unusual messages or calls directly to us. Right away."

She nodded as Novak handed over a business card.

“But we do need to ask one last time,” Rachel said. “You’re certain Alana wasn’t acting out of sorts these last few days?”

“No. Just…just sacred about what we’d found.”

Rachel nodded, but she was wondering if a woman who had been suicidal roughly two years ago could have been pushed by enough stress to try ending her life again. It was a theory that she thought had some wheels to it, but it all came back to how Sandra had beendirectedout to the woods to that pod. And, of course, it raised the even bigger question of how the pod had gotten there in the first place.

“Thank you,” Rachel said. “Please let us know if anything else comes to you.”

They left the house under the weight of the Townsends' fear. The afternoon had grown older, the weak sunlight failing to warm the chilly air. Houses cast long shadows across their perfect lawns, and somewhere a dog barked, the sound echoing off vinyl siding and brick facades.

Rachel checked her watch: 2:57 PM. The day was slipping away faster than she'd like.

"Carson Industries," Novak said as they reached the car. It wasn't a question.

Rachel nodded, already pulling out her phone to look up the address. "Someone there knows something. Sandra Mitchell didn't just stumble onto fraud and then coincidentally end up dead in a suicide pod." She paused, considering the Townsends' fear. "We should put a tail on Alana. If someone's cleaning house..."

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