A WAITRESS FED THE SAME HOMELESS MAN EVERY NIGHT—ONE DAY, HE WALKED IN WEARING A SUIT
Chapter 8
Panic spread through the group.
David immediately checked the folder.
The original list was still there.
But the digital backup had been accessed.
Someone had entered their system.
“Who had access?” Emma asked.
“Only me,” Daniel said.
David looked at him.
“Then someone has your password.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No one knows it.”
Emma remembered the coffee shop.
The black sedan.
“What if they followed us?”
David shook his head.
“They wouldn’t need to.”
He pointed to Daniel’s phone.
“There.”
A small tracking application was running.
Daniel stared.
“I didn’t install that.”
David took the phone.
“They did.”
He deleted it.
Then his face became grim.
“We have less than twelve hours.”
“What do we do?”
“Move the witnesses.”
Emma looked at him.
“All twenty-three?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Quietly.”
They divided the group.
Paul contacted three former employees.
Daniel arranged transportation.
Emma called the families of several investors.
By midnight, they had moved fourteen people.
Nine remained.
At 2:15 a.m., one of the remaining witnesses called.
“I can’t come.”
“Why?” Emma asked.
“He found me.”
“Who?”
Silence.
Then the man whispered:
“Richard.”
The call ended.
Emma looked at David.
“What now?”
David picked up his coat.
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“He’ll expect me.”
“You could be walking into a trap.”
David smiled.
“So could tomorrow.”
He left.
Emma followed.
They reached a small apartment building.
The witness lived on the third floor.
The hallway was empty.
David knocked.
No answer.
He tried the door.
Unlocked.
Inside, furniture had been overturned.
The witness was gone.
On the wall, written in black marker:
THE HOMELESS MAN SHOULD HAVE STAYED INVISIBLE.
Emma’s hands trembled.
David stared at the message.
Then he noticed something else.
A photograph lay on the floor.
It showed Emma standing behind the restaurant.
The date was that morning.
Someone had been watching her for months.
David’s face hardened.
“It’s not just about me anymore.”
Emma looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Richard knows you’re helping me.”
He picked up the photograph.
“And now he knows exactly where to hurt me.”
