Chapter 2

I sat at the peeling desk of a cash-only Airbnb, working remotely on my laptop.

My phone buzzed relentlessly next to my keyboard. I stared at the illuminated screen. Fifty-two unread messages in three days.

[Sloane, what did I do wrong? We promised to ring the Nasdaq bell together. Please answer.]

Until Chloe found hard evidence to expose him, I had absolutely no intention of contacting Julian again.

I hit the lock button. His performance deserved an Oscar.

My screen lit up again with Chloe’s name.

I grabbed it instantly. "Tell me you found something."

"I dug into his medical startup, his offshore accounts, and the FBI database," Chloe said. Her voice was painfully careful. "Sloane, he’s spotless. No dark money. No red flags at all."

"Check the clinical trial data again. Look deeper."

"I did. There's nothing." A heavy pause lingered on the line. "Are you sure the pressure of the Wall Street offer isn't getting to you? You told me you haven't slept in days."

I ended the call.

The next morning, Sarah, the senior partner who recruited me, intercepted me in the bank's lobby.

"Julian was in my office last night," Sarah said. Her tone was sharp. "He almost canceled his Series B roadshow looking for you. You are taking mandatory medical leave."

I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. "Sarah, you have to listen to me. Julian is dangerous. I can see a probability number above people's heads. He's at one hundred percent."

Sarah stared at me, bewildered.

Two hours later, Sarah and Chloe flanked me in a high-end psychiatric clinic on Park Avenue.

The doctor folded his hands over a leather clipboard. "Severe paranoia coupled with visual synesthesia, likely triggered by extreme career stress."

I gripped the edge of my seat. "I predicted my parents' scheme to lock me in a conservatorship. Were those numbers a hallucination too?"

"Your subconscious picked up on their financial distress," the doctor replied smoothly. "The numbers are merely a physical manifestation of your anxiety."

I knew it. To them, I was just mentally unstable. No one would ever believe me.

I stood up and marched out.

I pushed through the clinic's double doors where Julian stood by his Porsche.

Chloe grabbed my elbow. "He’s been terrified, Sloane. Just talk to him."

She nudged me forward.

Julian rushed forward and wrapped his arms around me. "Thank god you're safe. I was so worried."

Then, his fingers slid up the back of my neck. Two fingertips pressed firmly into the hollow beneath my jaw.

Right against my carotid artery.

I stiffened. He is absolutely going to kill me.

I took a cash-only shift at a dingy diner in Brooklyn to stay off the grid.

I wiped down a table. The man in the corner booth had a glowing "50%" hovering above his baseball cap.

I threw the rag down, locked myself in the employee restroom, and dialed Agent Ford.

"There's a man here. He's going to commit a violent crime," I said.

"Sloane, my jurisdiction is white-collar crime," Chloe's dad sighed through the receiver. "Have you taken your medication?"

"Send a squad car right now, or his victim's blood is on your badge!"

I ended the call and cracked the restroom door open.

The man was slurring his words, grabbing the waitress at the counter. She slapped him across the face.

The man pulled a switchblade from his jacket. He lunged and drove the blade into her stomach.

I dropped to my knees, crawling under the pastry display.

Screams erupted. Glass shattered.

Heavy boots thudded toward my hiding spot.

The man was scanning the room with the bloody knife, his eyes wild.

The diner doors burst open. Agent Ford tackled the man to the tile floor.

The waitress bled out before the paramedics arrived.

Later, Ford told me the man was a laid-off tech worker out for revenge.

He had hesitated between targeting the waitress and me. I walked away just in time.

A fifty-fifty probability.

Ford sat across from me in Chloe's living room that evening.

I kept my hands interlocked to hide the shaking.

"I'm not crazy. I saw the fifty percent. And I saw Julian's hundred."

Ford pulled up a file on his tablet. "I ran his associates, his vendors, everything. He’s a flawless Silicon Valley CEO."

I met the agent's eyes. "Every criminal is clean until their first felony."

Ford slowly nodded. "You stay here. We'll protect you until your start date at the bank."

Three days later, I walked back from the corner bodega.

I spotted a familiar silhouette near the brick wall of my new apartment building.

I yanked my hood up and ducked behind a parked delivery van.

Julian stood under the streetlight. He rubbed his face, looking devastated. He held his phone to his mouth.

"I found where you're working, Sloane. I just want to..."

He stopped recording. He deleted the audio, typed a message, and walked away to his car.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

'No matter what happens, I'll wait for you to come back to me.'

I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice water.

The diner was in Brooklyn. Way off my usual grid. Only Chloe's family knew I was taking shifts there.

How the hell did he know exactly where to find me?