Michael arranged contracts, purchased a disguise, and memorized a new identity. When he finally looked in the mirror, he barely recognized the man staring back. On his first day, the housekeeper Nancy Whitfield opened the service door and welcomed him with a tired but kind smile.
“I am sorry,” Abigail whispered. “Not good enough.”
He removed the false beard.
Patricia lunged for the device, but Michael stepped away.
Two long weeks of watching through windows, listening from hallways, and resisting the urge to reveal himself every time his chest tightened with anger. The plan had begun after a conversation that refused to leave his mind. A month earlier, he had announced that he needed to leave for an extended business trip, a story supported by a professional actor who answered calls and emails in his name.
She barely glanced at him, already dismissing his existence as she walked away. Two weeks earlier, Michael had sat across from his longtime friend and legal advisor Trevor Lawson, explaining the idea that had kept him awake for nights. Trevor had stared at him in disbelief.
