Chapter 8
I accepted a permanent federal security detail,
two highly trained agents who shadowed my every move,
and we transformed Adrian House into a temporary fortress.
The hitman was a ghost,
a phantom known in underground circles only as the Architect,
famous for staging murders to look like tragic accidents.
I refused to let the fear paralyze me,
continuing my daily work with the survivors,
and expanding our legal aid programs for the community.
But every time a car backfired,
or a shadow moved too quickly across the glass atrium,
my pulse raced,
and my hand instinctively reached for the panic button in my pocket.
We fortified the building's security systems,
upgrading the cameras,
installing bulletproof glass in the main offices,
and implementing strict background checks for all visitors.
Despite our precautions,
the Architect managed to slip a warning into my private office,
bypassing layers of electronic security and human guards.
I found a single white rose on my desk one morning,
its thorns meticulously clipped,
resting on top of a printed photograph of my own apartment building.
It was a psychological tactic,
designed to break my nerves,
and to prove that no amount of federal protection could keep me safe forever.
Vance was furious,
tearing the office apart in search of clues,
and interrogating every staff member who had entered the wing.
I realized that defending myself passively was a losing game,
and that I needed to draw the Architect out into the open,
on a battlefield of my own choosing.
I decided to host a massive public fundraiser for Adrian House,
an event that would be impossible for a professional killer to resist,
given the high profile and the chaotic crowd.
Vance argued fiercely against the idea,
calling it a suicidal gamble,
but I reminded him that we were dealing with an arrogant predator.
The Architect prided himself on public,
spectacular executions,
and a gala filled with the city's elite would be the perfect stage for his ego.
We spent two weeks planning the event,
turning the chosen venue into a massive trap,
with undercover agents disguised as catering staff,
and snipers positioned on the surrounding rooftops.
I selected a dress of deep crimson silk,
refusing to wear a bulletproof vest that would ruin the silhouette,
and ignoring Vance's desperate protests.
I wanted the Architect to see me completely vulnerable,
to believe I was careless,
and to make the fatal mistake of stepping into the light.
The night of the gala arrived,
and as I stepped out of the armored SUV,
May you like
I took a deep breath,
ready to face the phantom in the crowd.
