Page 59 of The Followers

Same same!

IhateMollySullivan4Eva replied:

I think we’re seeing the beginning of the end for her. This is how it always goes with these influencers, right? They start out super relatable and likable (I mean, not to me, but to some people obviously). But little by little, as their fame grows, it shifts. They lose relatability as they get more popular. That’s when they start doing product placement for stupid shit like organic fruit snacks and down comforters. Soon everything seems like an ad. Even the supposedly candid moments feel scripted. Curated imperfection, ya know? BORING. They become desperate to maintain their influence. This is followed by some sort of public breakdown, after which they either get divorced and/or go to rehab.

Who wants to take bets on when’ll it happen for Molly??

FannyPackLuvr replied:

Oh I am SO in. If I never have to see Molly’s stupid ponytail and stupid pink sunglasses again, I’ll die happy. I give her two months before she falls apart.

MamaLlama99 replied:

Two MONTHS? Try two WEEKS. See if I’m wrong.

IhateMollySullivan4Eva replied:

Get your popcorn ready, girls. This is gonna be good.

twenty-nine

While I am of the opinion that most people in the world are inherently good, some people are toxic. Even rarer are the truly evil people, but they do exist.

@InvincibleMollySullivan

Liv had just finished up a busy day at the nursing facility and was heading across the parking lot to her car when she jolted to a stop.

Her passenger side window had been broken. Crumbled glass littered the asphalt, crunching underfoot as Liv peered carefully in the window. Damn it. She’d left her purse in the car—and now her wallet had been stolen.

She curled her hands into fists, frustrated. Not just because of the break-in, but because she hadn’t sent that letter to the bank in Pittsburgh yet. With her driver’s license missing, she didn’t know what to do—it would take a few weeks to get it replaced.

Pulling out her phone, she called the bank and asked to be transferred to the safe deposit box division. “Hi,” she said, when a woman answered. “I called a couple weeks ago about getting access to my sister’s safe deposit box. Can you remind me of the date when the lease expires?”

“Of course,” the woman on the phone said. “Just give me the number.”

Liv did, and waited, listening to the clack of the keyboard on the other end of the line.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said. “You have until the twelfth.”

About four weeks.

“My driver’s license was just stolen,” Liv explained. “So I’m going to need to get a new one, and I’m not sure how long that’ll take.”

“No problem. Like I told your brother, a copy of any government-issued ID will do just fine. Do you have a passport?”

Liv stopped. “Wait, what? My brother called?”

“That’s right,” the woman said, patiently. “He called an hour ago and said he’d be sending the required documentation shortly.”

Confused, Liv put her phone on speaker and texted Oliver.

Did you just call the bank about K’s safe deposit box?

No, why would I do that?

Her heart thumped. It couldn’t be a coincidence. She wished she had thought to ask Rasband about the safe deposit box when they’d spoken. But he must not know about it; there had been no mention of it in Kristina’s case file. Otherwise, the police would have opened it to look for evidence.

“You’re sure that someone called about this exact safe deposit box?” Liv said into the phone.