🔥 Read 15 Chapters Ahead! 🔥
Join my Patreon and get:
đź“– 15 Advance Chapters
đź’¬ Early updates
❤️ Directly support the story
One subscription unlocks everything.
Thank you for supporting!
đź”— Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/cw/TemporalPhantom
-----------
—This star is in Chicago for a series of concerts at Soldier Field in a couple of days. She's received several death threats and has been stalked by an unknown individual for weeks. They want us to go take a look.
Ethan immediately looked up.
—Should I call the team? —he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket—. Antonio just left. I can tell him to come back.
Hank gestured before he could dial.
—No need. It'll just be you and me. They don't want to attract attention from the press or the paparazzi.
Ethan slowly lowered his phone.
—What do you mean?
—For now, it's off the books.
Hank stood and grabbed the jacket he had left draped over the back of his chair.
—You know how these things work when a public figure is involved. They don't want bad publicity, they don't want to cause panic among the fans, and they don't want some reporter turning the whole thing into a circus. The woman has connections with people upstairs, and they want to know whether there's a real threat before mobilizing the entire department.
Ethan watched him for a couple of seconds.
—Did the mayor ask you personally, or was it Commander Perry?
Hank put on his jacket.
—Perry. He's got a good relationship with City Hall, and he asked me for a favor.
—Then I guess you owe me one now —Ethan said—. And I think this is a good time to cash it in. I'm going to need a couple of days off. I have to go to New York.
Hank looked up.
—When are you leaving?
Ethan let out a short laugh through his nose.
—In a couple of weeks. I'll make it official so you can sign the paperwork.
—Wow, look at you being all formal. That's new.
—Thought you'd appreciate the gesture.
—I do. I'm almost touched.
Ethan smiled.
—Then there won't be a problem.
Hank shook his head, holding back a smile.
Ethan slipped his phone back into his pocket.
—Wait… we're going right now?
Hank was already walking out of the office.
—Right now.
Ethan remained seated for a moment, watching him walk away.
It was almost nine at night.
An off-the-books job, at that hour, for someone with enough money, fame, or connections to get an Intelligence sergeant to personally show up at her house.
This definitely wasn't just any favor.
Ethan grabbed his jacket and stood.
—Are you at least going to tell me where we're going?
Hank kept walking toward the stairs.
—I'll tell you in the car.
Great.
—Don't give me that look.
Hank took a couple of steps back, put a hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed him toward the exit.
—When we're done, I'll buy you a drink.
—It better be a good one.
—You pick.
—That makes it a little better.
They left the office.
As they passed the Intelligence board, Ethan slowed down.
Muñoz's photograph was still there.
They hadn't heard anything from him since the operation. After everything that had happened, part of Ethan would have preferred to stay and hunt down the bastard rather than spend the night reassuring some celebrity.
He shook his head and followed Hank downstairs.
Ethan followed Hank's vehicle north. They left downtown Chicago behind and, after a while, reached Evanston.
The difference was noticeable almost immediately.
Clean streets, well-kept trees, large houses, and a sense of calm that felt strange after spending so much of their time working in some of the worst neighborhoods in the city.
Northwestern University was located there, its main campus stretching along the shore of Lake Michigan. It was one of the most prestigious private universities in the country, particularly renowned for its law, medicine, business, journalism, and engineering programs.
The campus covered a broad stretch of lakefront, combining historic stone buildings with modern academic facilities, libraries, laboratories, and student residences.
It was already past nine at night when Ethan spotted two young women jogging alone on the sidewalk, both wearing headphones and looking completely at ease. In other parts of Chicago, that sight alone would have been enough to prompt a 911 call.
A few minutes later, Hank turned on his signal and pulled onto a residential street.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a property considerably larger than the ones they had passed before.
Ethan parked behind Hank's vehicle and lit a cigarette as he watched the sergeant approach the intercom.
Hank pressed the button.
Only a few seconds passed before the iron gate began to open.
Ethan took one last drag, put out the cigarette, and got back into his vehicle.
They drove in.
As they made their way down the private drive, Ethan began studying the surroundings.
Ever since he had acquired that ability, he felt compelled to look twice. All he had to do was focus, and his mind would start working.
The perimeter wall was about eight feet high. Enough to keep out curious onlookers and opportunistic photographers, but not someone truly determined. There was no protection along the top, and several trees grew close enough to make climbing over easier.
He spotted a camera above the main entrance and two more discreetly mounted on the facade, but none of them completely covered the perimeter. The house probably had a solid security system; the exterior, however, had far too many blind spots.
They passed an illuminated fountain and finally reached the residence.
The house was enormous. Even compared to the property Ethan had recently bought, this villa was in another league.
But its size wasn't what caught his attention most.
From outside, he could hear music and numerous voices. It sounded like there was a party going on inside.
—Are you going to tell me who we're here to see?
Hank closed his vehicle door and adjusted his jacket.
—We'll talk to her agent first.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—Her agent?
Hank ignored the question and pulled out his phone.
Before he could make the call, the enormous front door opened.
A woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be around forty, slender, and impeccably professional. Her hair was straight and black, and her attractive face carried a confident expression. She wore an elegant dark business suit, a light-colored blouse, and high heels.
Her eyes briefly swept over Ethan before settling on Hank.
—Good evening —she greeted them when she reached them—. You must be Sergeant Hank Voight. I'm Chloe, Miss Swift's agent.
—That's right.
Hank shook her hand.
—Thank you for coming on such short notice.
—No problem.
Chloe then turned her attention to Ethan.
—And he is…?
—Detective Morgan —Hank replied—. He works with me.
Chloe extended her hand toward Ethan. He mentally searched for her name and came up with nothing.
—Ma'am.
His tone was polite, though not particularly enthusiastic.
—Follow me.
Chloe headed back toward the entrance.
—Miss Swift is busy at the moment. While she finishes rehearsal, I can explain what's been happening.
Ethan took a couple of steps before turning back toward Hank.
—Wait… Taylor Swift? Are you kidding me?
He spread his hands slightly, still surprised.
Hank kept walking as if it were nothing.
—You know her?
—Of course I do. She's really famous. I saw her in a magazine recently —Ethan stared at him in disbelief—. How the hell do you not know who she is?
Hank shrugged.
—Don't ask me. The last star I met was Marlon Brando, back in '89.
Ethan stared at him.
—That explains a lot.
—Shut up and keep walking.
Ethan laughed and followed him.
The moment he stepped through the door, he understood where all the noise was coming from.
There were easily twenty to thirty people inside. The enormous living room had been transformed into some kind of makeshift stage. Spotlights, cameras, sound equipment, cables, and crew members moving back and forth.
It wasn't a party.
It was a rehearsal or a shoot.
At the center stood a blonde woman. She was tall, wore her hair short, and was dressed in a bright yellow outfit that stood out beneath the lights. Surrounded by several dancers, she repeated a sequence while someone watched from behind a camera.
Ethan shifted his attention to the rest of the room.
Technical crew.
Assistants.
Dancers.
Makeup artists.
Too many people.
Then he found the security detail.
Four men.
They wore black suits, had large builds, and carried themselves with the rigid posture of men with training, probably military. At least the singer hadn't been reckless enough to go without private security.
One guarded the entrance while the other three were spread throughout the room. None of them, however, seemed particularly alert: one was chewing gum, another was talking to a member of the staff, and the third was paying more attention to one of the dancers than to his job.
Ethan surveyed the room again.
Twenty or thirty people coming and going through a property with too many blind spots and poor exterior surveillance.
And the woman who had supposedly been receiving death threats was right in the middle of all of them.
That didn't necessarily mean the bodyguards were incompetent. They were probably good at getting their client out of a crowd or shielding her if someone tried to rush her.
But that was exactly the problem.
They looked prepared to deal with overzealous fans.
Ethan still didn't know whether they were prepared for someone who genuinely wanted to kill her.
He looked at the blonde again.
So that was Taylor Swift.
He discreetly pulled out his phone and took a picture of her. Then he opened his conversation with Job, just to mess with him.
Ethan:[Photo of Taylor]
Look who I ran into.
Job:
…
Job:
YOU SON OF A BITCH.
Job:
IS THAT TAYLOR SWIFT?
Ethan:
I think so.
Job:
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, "I THINK SO"?
Job:
THAT'S FUCKING TAYLOR SWIFT!
Ethan:
You a fan?
Job:
Delete that question.
Job:
And get me an autograph.
Ethan:
Hahahaha.
Job:
I'M NOT JOKING.
Ethan put his phone away.
—Morgan.
Hank's voice made him look up.
Chloe was already heading upstairs.
—Coming.
He followed her to the second floor.
They entered a conference room that was considerably quieter than the living room downstairs. There was a long table in the center, several chairs, and large windows overlooking part of the property.
Ethan chose a chair that allowed him to keep the door within his field of vision.
Habit.
—Would you like something to drink? —Chloe asked.
—No, thank you —Hank replied as he sat down—. Tell me exactly what happened.
Chloe walked toward a small cabinet at the back of the room.
—You need to see this first.
She returned with a glass in one hand and two envelopes in the other. She placed them on the table in front of them.
—These are the threats we've received.
Hank's expression immediately changed.
Ethan picked up one of the envelopes but didn't open it. He examined the outside first, then did the same with the second.
—Who touched them?
Chloe froze.
—Excuse me?
Ethan looked up.
—Since they first showed up. I need to know how many people have handled these letters.
Chloe looked at the envelopes, trying to remember.
—Taylor, me, her assistant, and probably someone from the security team.
Ethan exchanged a look with Hank.
Fantastic.
He carefully held the envelope by one corner.
—Then let's start from the beginning. When did you receive the first one?
From the moment Ethan began examining the letters, he noticed something interesting.