And somewhere else, the network is calculating their next move. The man with the fake credentials is reporting back to whoever sent him. They know someone refused to give them information. They'll be planning their next approach.
My phone buzzes. Text from Zeke:
Meeting tomorrow morning. Sheriff's office, early. Federal task force wants to coordinate security measures.
I respond:
I'll be there.
Tomorrow we'll plan. We'll coordinate defenses and establish protocols and try to stay ahead of a network that's already proven they can forge credentials and operate in plain sight.
Tonight, I'm alone in my clinic with a notepad full of observations and the weight of knowing I've become part of the target profile.
I pull out the notepad and review what I wrote earlier. His face, the way he moved, the sedan, the threat. Every detail committed to paper. When he comes back, I'll recognize him.
