Veronica Parker narrowed her dark eyes as she watched the Sunday morning foot traffic pass her by. It was not often that she found herself on a park bench, enjoying the early hours of the day, watching perfect couples push strollers with small children trailing behind them, dripping ice cream on their freshly laundered shirts and young women riding by on retro bicycles, their high ponytails swinging in the wind.

Frankly, it was a pastime she did her best to avoid, considering the nature of her work. It was never a good idea to be out in the open, at risk of being recognized. Self-preservation required a certain amount of discretion.

Jace Morgan had been very insistent when he telephoned her to say he needed to see her today. They had had a long-established appointment next week, but he had told her, rather panicked, that it simply was not soon enough. She had kept her comments to herself when she accepted the change in plans. Desperation would cost him. Veronica did not adjust her schedule without a price.

The payoff in this line of work was definitely worth the sacrifice.

She spotted him easily enough, frowning at his choice in wardrobe. He dressed like an off-duty cop. He should have worn a hat or sunglasses, but instead he was bare-headed and smiling at everyone in his path. He was drawing attention to them both as he strolled casually towards her. Reflexively, she adjusted her baseball cap, pulling it down further to shield her eyes.

"Never wear that shirt again," she said as he sat down.

"Excuse me?"

"The label is too flashy. Someone would be able to give a description of you too easily in that because you're catching their attention," she explained. "Never wear anything too recognizable."

"Miss Parker, my client will be hiring you to run a con, not an assassination." His words were curt, but laced with humor. She did not smile.

"Your choice," she said with a shrug, pushing a dark strand of hair behind her ear. "What was so urgent that it could not wait? I thought your client needed me in November."

"Change of plans," he said quickly. He reached into his pocket to withdraw an envelope with a strange seal. "The nondisclosure is in my car. He would like to meet with you now. But this… I have not read it, obviously. It's for you." She took the letter from his hand, feeling the unexpected silkiness of cardstock. He seemed to watch her expectantly.

"Where's your car?" she asked.

"Down the street, in front of the bake shop like you instructed," Mr. Morgan said. She nodded.

"I will meet you there," she said. He took a moment to process, but when she still did not look up, he began to walk back in the direction from which he came.

Veronica sighed. She was always hoping for a competent associate, but never seemed to wind up with one. The note in her hand drew her attention. She did not know many people who still went to the trouble of writing calligraphy on thirty dollar cardstock.

It was formal, specific. All clothing and other necessities will be provided for you. Please be assured that you will be generously compensated for the change of plans.

The kind of man that wrote a note like that was used to getting his way. She was unaccustomed to following orders, but suspected the compensation would make it a little easier to swallow her pride.

The heels of her boots clicked aggressively on the pavement. When she spotted the car, she muttered an oath. She got in quickly, wordlessly, looking both ways before shutting the door.

"Oh good! You-"

"Drive!"

"Are you always this cranky?" he muttered.

"Do you always drive a fully loaded Mercedes through a low-income neighbourhood where it would take the average family twenty-five years of financial stability to buy a car like this?" she muttered in turn, finally looking up at him. He was taken aback a moment, forcing his eyes back on the road. Peculiar, most definitely, but she certainly was a striking woman.

He cleared his throat.

"The nondisclosure is in the backseat. Can you reach it?"

"Yes," she said, turning around in her seat. She noted that it was also printed on fancy legal cardstock, with certain areas highlighted in yellow. She frowned. "Extensive. Are you sure he does not expect me to assassinate anyone?" Jace laughed.

"He's thorough. He has a team of lawyers. I'm guessing that is a collection of all of their work."

"I'm going to read every page before signing it," she warned. "Anything strange in here and you'll be turning around."

"Miss Parker, I believe that now, after exchanging more than our fair share of emails, you understand the scope of this assignment. Anything found in there is only to provide my client with the kind of privacy he has fought his whole life to keep."

Veronica nodded, turning her head to look out the window. She knew a little something about needing privacy. It often felt like a prison. Isolation, whether forced or not, was a lonely place. In the early days of her work, she had foolishly believed she could have both, a life and this career. Before long, her thinking shifted. There was no room in her life for civilians. The work she did was only possible because she was alone.

"Your client is an agoraphobic?"

"No, I would not say so. More like a recluse. He is simply disinterested in the outside world. A choice, merely."

"No friends or family?"

"As you know already, his father is dead. Just the mother

now."

She was not usually so chatty, but something about this man's purpose was unlike her usual clients. And to serve, she had to understand. It was a simple formula for success. In her line of work, everything needed an algorithm. She left nothing to chance or fate. For things to function, she needed to isolate patterns, to apply change, to replicate, to manipulate. She played God.

"Miss Parker, when you meet Erik… He is a very calculated man. He would not be employing you if he was not absolutely sure which outcome he desires. "

Good, she thought, a client that knows exactly what he wants. It would be a welcomed reprise from the nuanced emotions of angry trophy wives.

He was just what she needed.