Page 41 of The Perfect Illusion

“But it didn’t work out at first?” Jessie prodded.

"Not the first time or the second," he said, the residue of frustration audible in his voice. "I was about to cut bait on the whole thing when Victoria asked me to give it one more shot. She said she'd found a woman she thought would be perfect for me, and if I didn't agree, she'd refund half of my membership fee. Since that fee is considerable, I was intrigued. The woman she introduced me to was Carrie. That was all she wrote."

“Victoria?” Jessie asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Victoria Sterling,” He said. “Elite Introductions is her company. She personally vets every client and every potential match. She's very hands-on. Like I said, she even came here for the interview for the sake of discretion.”

Jessie’s mind was racing. Just like Carrie Walters, the other two victims were much younger than their wealthy husbands. Was it possible that both of those couples also met through Elite Introductions? If so, that opened up a whole new avenue for investigation.

She badly wanted to get up right now so that she could head straight to wherever Elite Introductions was located. But there was a grieving man sitting in front of her, trying to process the fact that, after searching for a soul mate and finally finding one, she’d been brutally torn from him.

“Do you want to go see Carrie now?” Brady asked delicately.

“Yes, please,” Walters said, stifling a sob.

“I’ll take you inside,” Brady said. “Ms. Hunt has to deal with another pressing issue.”

Jessie looked over at her partner. From his expression, it was clear that he had come to the same conclusion about the potential of the dating service as a lead and that he was giving her an escape hatch so that she could start pursuing it immediately.

She smiled in appreciation and did her best not to look anxious as she waited for the two men to enter the house. But the second they were out of sight, she pulled out her phone to call Jamil and hopefully, get some answers.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Rachel Thompson didn’t have long.

Her boss thought she was at a doctor's appointment, which was supposed to be over by three. But it was now 4:15, and she still hadn't left.

Of course, she wasn't at a doctor's office at all. She was standing on the sidewalk outside the yoga studio where Amanda Calloway was currently working up a mean sweat.

As Rachel watched through the window, she had twin emotions. One was admiration for Amanda’s remarkable flexibility and the body that allowed her to have it. The young woman was an impressive specimen.

At only 27, Amanda was an up-and-coming actress, about to be seen in a high-profile indie film that recently won an award at the Sundance Film Festival. She had a tanned and toned body, a gorgeous face, and long brown hair, which was currently tied back in a ponytail. The woman was currently engaged in the downward dog pose and her form was immaculate.

The other emotion that Rachel felt was something close to hatred. After all, Amanda was the new wife of Rachel’s ex-husband, James Calloway, a movie producer known for high-octane action films. The two had wed only six months ago in a lavish ceremony on James’s yacht, the very one that Rachel used to lounge on before she was tossed aside.

She was apparently just human garbage to James now, even though she didn’t look it. Though she was currently wearing a disguise so Amanda wouldn’t recognize her, she caught an extended glimpse of herself in the glass window of the yoga studio. At the horribly advanced age of 36, she thought she still looked good.

A combination of relentless workouts, plastic surgery, and daily semi-starvation had kept her in the kind of shape that allowed for two-piece bathing suits and form-fitting dresses. But apparently that wasn’t enough for James, who seemed to trade in his spouse for a new model every decade or so.

Rachel should have been suspicious when James—41 at the time—dumped his previous wife for her after 11 years of marriage. She was 26 at the time and a rising star in the beauty influencer space. But after nine years together, he sent her packing too, in favor of Amanda, apparently the new flavor of the decade.

Rachel, who had been so in love that she signed a deeply unfair prenup, was left not quite destitute, but certainly in rough shape. Having let her influencer work atrophy while on James’s arm, she was now behind the eight ball in terms of employment and was reduced to personal assistant work. It was embarrassing.

But all that changed when she saw an opening for a position that could reconfigure everything. When Victoria Sterling’s administrative aide left and she put up an online job posting, Rachel jumped at it. After all, this was the matchmaking service that had set James up with Amanda.

Of course, when Rachel applied, she did so under her maiden name, Thompson, rather than the married one, which might give her away. Victoria—no spring chicken herself—had been happy to hire her, in part because Rachel was “an adult,” unlike the collection of twenty-somethings who applied for the gig, likely in the hope of securing one of Sterling’s clients for themselves.

So she’d begun work at Elite Introductions three months ago. She quickly proved herself to be invaluable, earning Sterling’s trust to the point that she gave her access to client files, including payment history and personal information, like addresses.

Rachel wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been after when she took the job. Part of her thought that if she got some dirt on Amanda, maybe she could get back into James’s good graces. But that mission was soon replaced by a new, far more urgent one.

After seeing up close just how pathetic these rich men—like her ex—were, and how grasping their new arm candy was, she knew she had to get payback, not just for herself but for all the other wives who had been tossed aside.

The anger had been gurgling up in her for a long time now, and she was ready to let it out. Maybe it was regularly being treated like leftovers thrown into a dumpster. Maybe it was the insultingly pitying looks she got from former friends who had abandoned her. Maybe it was the indignity of having to budget her money for the first time in a decade. Or maybe it was the potent combination of all those personal humiliations, and the many more she'd endured, that brought her to this place. Whatever the reason, she was ready to inflict some pain rather than receive it.

Her first plan was to frame the husbands for their wives’ murders, but she quickly abandoned the idea, deciding that it was far too involved and beyond her skill set. What she could do was more simple but still effective. She could slaughter these women, leaving the men who were left behind broken, frightened, and most importantly, alone again.

Because Victoria had been to many of these men’s homes for the interview process, she had details on the places. She also often knew their schedules. That was because, even after setting up these couples, she would coordinate “romantic” events for them. That might include a string quartet performing in the living room, a homemade dinner prepared in their own kitchen by a celebrated chef, or a private screening of a sought-after film.

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