“Do not confront him yet. Screenshot everything. Preserve records. Protect assets.”
Then she asked:
“Can you still function at work?”
I paused.
“I can for another hour.”
“Then do your job,” she said. “After that, come see me.”
So I went back.
And stitched an artery in a man who had been stabbed outside a bar.
My hands didn’t shake.
My colleagues said I looked calm.
Inside?
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Something colder than anger had taken over.
Grief would come later.
So would humiliation.
But in that moment…
I was precision.
For illustrative purposes only
By evening, we knew her name.
Lauren Mercer. Twenty-nine.
Former pharmaceutical sales rep.
Ethan had been paying for her apartment through an LLC I thought belonged to his work.
The investigator found everything.
Lease.
Bills.
