The interview was scheduled for Monday at 2 PM.
James sat in a secure FBI facility in Salt Lake City, in a small room with a laptop, waiting for the Cornell hiring committee to connect. He'd been preparing for this—reading through his notes, reviewing the course materials he'd researched, reminding himself of why he wanted to teach.
It felt surreal. A man named Ken Blake was trying to kill him. The FBI was setting traps. His life had become a tactical exercise. And yet, here he was, preparing to discuss research methodology with academics who had no idea any of this was happening.
Agent Chen stood outside the door, monitoring the connection for security purposes. Sarah was in another room, also under protection. The world outside the secure facility felt infinitely distant.
At 1:55 PM, James took a breath and logged into the video call.
Three faces appeared on screen: Dr. Margaret Goodman (department chair), Dr. Robert Aldridge (curriculum specialist), and Dr. Keisha Williams (assistant professor). All of them looked friendly and professional. None of them knew that the man on their screen was currently the target of a federal manhunt.
"James," Dr. Goodman said warmly. "Thank you for taking the time for this interview despite your... circumstances."
"Thank you for reaching out," James replied. "I understand there's been some concern about stability given recent events."
"We have some concerns," Dr. Aldridge said carefully. "But we also understand that this situation is not of your making. What we want to know is whether you can focus on teaching while managing this external stress."
It was a fair question. James considered it carefully before answering.
"I think," James said slowly, "that having something constructive to focus on would actually help me manage the stress better than sitting in protection doing nothing. I think teaching would ground me. It would give me purpose beyond just surviving the current situation."
Dr. Williams leaned forward. "Tell us about your philosophy of teaching research methodology. What would you want students to understand?"
James had thought about this. He'd thought about it constantly since applying for the position.
"I would want them to understand that research isn't abstract," James said. "It's not just about data and statistics and methodology. Research is about human beings—the researchers who conduct it and the people it affects. I would want them to understand that being a researcher comes with ethical responsibility. That how you conduct research and how you present findings has real consequences for real people."
"That's idealistic," Dr. Aldridge observed, but without criticism.
"It is," James agreed. "But I've learned through experience that the cost of ignoring that idealism is very high. For everyone."
The interview continued for forty-five minutes. They asked him about curriculum development. They asked about his research background. They asked about his teaching philosophy. James answered thoughtfully and honestly. He didn't hide his past failures—instead, he integrated them into his understanding of what good teaching means.
By the end of the interview, he could feel something shift in the room—a sense that the committee had moved from skeptical to genuinely engaged.
"We're very impressed," Dr. Goodman said. "We'd like to make you an offer. The position starts in the fall semester. The salary is competitive. We would want you to lead the undergraduate research methodology course and potentially develop a graduate seminar on research ethics."
James felt something break open in his chest. This was real. This was a future. This was the possibility of building something meaningful despite everything that was happening.
"I need to be honest about something," James said. "I'm currently under FBI protection. There's a man who's threatening me. I don't know how long that situation will last or what it will require of me."
Dr.Goodman nodded. "We're aware. The FBI informed us when you applied. But we've also been assured that they expect this to be resolved relatively quickly. We believe you're the right candidate for this position regardless."
After the call ended, James sat alone in the secure room and let himself cry.
Not from fear or sadness, but from relief. Someone believed in him. Someone thought he was capable of being a teacher, of influencing students, of building something. Someone thought his future was worth investing in.
Agent Chen appeared at the door. "How did it go?"
"They offered me the job," James said.
Chen smiled. "Congratulations. That's good news."
"Is it?" James asked. "How do I accept a job when I don't know if I'll be alive in six months? How do I commit to teaching a class when Blake might kill me before the semester starts?"
"That's something you have to decide," Chen said. "But my advice? Accept it. Make the commitment. That's what gives you something to live for. That's what makes surviving this situation mean something."
James met with Martinez that evening.
"I got the job," he told her. "But I need to know: what's the timeline? When does your plan to catch Blake happen?"
Martinez was quiet for a moment. "We're moving faster than expected. Blake's psychological state seems to be deteriorating. We think he's approaching a breaking point. We're planning the public event—your appearance at a conference in Salt Lake City—for next week."
"Next week?" James said.
"It has to be soon," Martinez explained. "If we wait too long, Blake will either kill someone or disappear completely. We need to draw him out while he's still focused on you and while we still have surveillance assets in position."
"And if something goes wrong?" James asked.
"We have a tactical team positioned," Martinez said. "We have snipers, plainclothes agents, and backup units. Blake will not get close to you without us stopping him."
"But people could die," James said. "That's what happened last time—Officer White died."
"People could die," Martinez acknowledged. "But people are already dying. Blake is a serial killer. Every day he remains free, there's a possibility he kills again. We need to end this."
James understood the logic. He also understood the cost.
"If I accept the Cornell job, I'm committing to a future beyond this," James said. "I'm saying I believe I'm going to survive. That's a big bet on your plan."
"It is," Martinez said. "But I think it's the right bet. I think Blake is going to come for you. I think we're going to stop him. And I think you're going to teach research methodology at Cornell and help a new generation of scholars understand how to do their work ethically."
That night, James called Cornell back and accepted the job.
He also called Emily in Idaho and told her the news.
"I got a job," he said. "Teaching at Cornell. Starting in the fall."
"James," Emily said, and her voice was full of something that sounded like hope. "That's wonderful."
"I don't know if I'll survive to start it," James said. "The FBI is setting up a situation to draw Blake out next week. I don't know what will happen."
"But you're accepting it anyway?" Emily asked.
"I have to," James said. "I have to believe that I'm going to survive. I have to believe that there's a future worth living for. Otherwise, what's the point of surviving at all?"
Emily was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm proud of you. Whatever happens next week, I want you to know that I'm proud of who you've become."
After they hung up, James sat in his secure room and felt something crystallize inside him. He was no longer just surviving. He was choosing a future. He was committing to something beyond the immediate crisis.
Whether he lived long enough to teach that first class was no longer the only thing that mattered. What mattered was that he'd decided his life had value. That he'd decided his future was worth fighting for.
Blake would come. The FBI would move. One way or another, the cycle would end.
But James Patterson was no longer going to define himself by that cycle. He was going to define himself by what came after—by the students he would teach, by the ethics he would advocate for, by the life he would build from the wreckage of his past.
For the first time since Ithaca, James felt something that resembled peace.