My stomach clenches tighter as I watch him bang away at his keyboard, brow furrowed. He stops to read something, then continues typing. Every second that passes feels like an eternity, and the adrenaline racing through my system as I watch him work is making me shake with anticipation.
“Could you maybe stop looming over me and tapping your foot?” Rick asks. “You’re making me nervous.”
I laugh. “Sorry. And I’m not looming.”
“You’re looming,” Rick says.
“You’re kind of looming, Boss,” Nina agrees.
“I hate you both.”
A smile curling my lips, I take a step back and try to rein myself in. We still don’t know anything yet, so I need to keep managing my expectations. Instead of looming over Rick, apparently, while he works, I sift through what little information we have in my mind. I think of anything I can. Anything just to keep my mind busy so I don’t obsess over what Rick is finding. Or not finding.
“Okay, it looks like this Praxidice Inc. is a shell company run through Panama and looks like it was incorporated about ten years ago,” Rick says. “I can’t find a list of the company’s officers or financial information just yet—there is a complicated web of paperwork. It’s going to take me a bit to cut through it all.”
The name Praxidice sticks in my head, and an ancient bit of history pops into my mind, making me laugh softly to myself.
“What is it?” Astra asks.
“He’s clever. Too clever.”
“How so?”
“Townsend definitely set it up. And he was definitely trying to hide it from us.”
“What makes you say that?” Mo asks.
“Praxidice is the Greek goddess of punishment and vengeance. And that’s what this whole thing is about—punishment and vengeance,” I reply. “He’s been planning this for a long time, and setting up that shell company was probably his first step.”
“Come on, do you really think he’d be that obvious?” Paige asks.
“Maybe he thinks even if we did find this, it would take us so long to unravel it all that it would be too late anyway,” I say. “Maybe he thinks that with his plan in the final stages, it doesn’t matter if we find out about his shell company.”
“Okay, but that begs the question, what purpose does this shell company serve?” Astra asks. “I mean, if it’s run through Panama, there’s obviously no business front here he can be using as his secondary location, so it’s a nice bit of trivia but may ultimately be a red herring.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip as I pace the room again. It’s a good question, and one I don’t have the answer to right now. Assuming I’m right and he set this company up as part of this grand plan he’s playing out, what part does Praxidice, Inc. serve? And that’s when the answer hits me.
“Nina, run a property check,” I say. “Find out if that company has purchased any buildings or land that might be suitable for Townsend’s purposes.”
“On it,” she says.
“Damn. That’s smart. And devious,” Astra mutters.
“He’s had some time to think this through. Time to plan everything out meticulously,” I say.
“To plan this out as long as he has… that’s a special kind of wicked,” Paige remarks.
“The man’s life fell apart because of what these people did,” Astra replies. “I don’t agree with what he’s doing, and I will take him down, but I can’t bring myself to hate the guy for it. I actually feel sorry for him.”
The room falls quiet for a moment as everybody digests Astra’s words. This would all be easier if Townsend was just some dead-eyed, black-hearted sociopath taking these kids for no other reason than he’s just some sick monster. The fact that he has a reason that’s understandable—if not relatable—makes it difficult to see him as anything other than a human being… as a grieving father. Not a monster. It doesn’t change our mission or what we have to do—what we will do—but it makes it harder than it should be.
“Okay, it looks like Praxidice, Inc. purchased a parcel of land that has several structures on it through a second shell company called Ultio, Ltd.,” Nina reports.
A wry grin curls my lips. “Subtle. Ultio is the Roman goddess of vengeance.”
“He’s leaning pretty hard into this whole subliminal messaging thing pretty hard,” Astra says.
“It’s all he has left,” Paige replies softly. “His wife is dead; his son is dead… he must feel vengeance is all he has to live for.”
“And he’s spent the last twenty years putting together the perfect plan to exact it on those who took everything from him,” Mo says.
“Not perfect. He left enough breadcrumbs behind for us to find him,” I say.
“Unless that was his plan all along. Maybe he wants us there to see the grand finale he’s got planned. After all, what’s a show without an audience?” Astra offers.
It’s an unsettling idea, but given how meticulous his planning has been in every other way, it’s not one I can’t dismiss out of hand.
“You may be right. It might be part of his plan to have us there. Either way, though, it’s our job to be there,” I state firmly. “So, let’s go. We have kids to rescue.”
Chemier Furniture Warehouse, Fauquier County; Catlett, VA
About an hour and a half west of Senator Barlow’s place in Arlington is the small, rural town of Catlett. It’s a poor area that has wide open swaths of land. The old Chemier Furniture sits on the western edge of the town and is relatively isolated. It’s the perfect place to set up whatever chamber of horrors he’s set up and is holding the kids in.
“Gate’s open,” Astra says. “I’d say we’re in the right place.”
“Looks like,” I reply.
The narrow dirt road cuts through what’s become a wide field of untamed weeds and bushes. Once upon a time, it had been part of the campus of Chemier Furniture, a family-owned custom furniture-making company that had been operating since the early 1900s. A downturn in the economy about thirty years ago forced them to shutter the business, and the entire campus had been fenced off and sat empty until about ten years ago when Townsend, operating through Praxidice, Inc. purchased the land through Ultio, Ltd. and set this whole chain of events in motion: the ripple of his vengeance spreading outward like rings in a still pond that will change the lives of everybody it’s touched.
All for vengeance. All for love.
I pull to a stop in the cracked, pitted parking lot in front of one of the old buildings. Mo stops behind me, and we all climb out.
“Gear up,” I say. “Vests, sidearms, and long guns. And make sure you’re on comms—use channel two. We don’t know what we’re walking into, so be ready for anything.”
“Copy that,” they all reply.
We all take a few moments to get ready. My stomach is churning, and my heart is beating faster than hummingbird wings. The day is cool with a soft breeze, but underneath my vest, my body is already drenched with a nervous sweat. I don’t know how this is all going to play out just yet, but the one thing I’m already sure of is that it’s not going to have a happy ending. In one way or another, this scenario is going to finish with some sort of tragedy. I don’t pretend to be clairvoyant and don’t believe in all that mysticism garbage, but as I stare at the crumbling campus around us, I can feel it in my bones.
“Okay, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I say. “Let’s spread out and look. Holler if you see anything and do not engage. Call for us, take cover, and wait for the cavalry. Clear?”
“Copy you,” they all reply.
“All right, let’s go.”
