Chapter 4 Fortune Favors the Bold

Sylvia looked across the table at the woman sitting in front of her. Dressed in pearls and a designer coat, she had the nervous air of someone carrying a secret.

'Perfect.'

Sylvia clasped the woman's hands, her expression calm and spirit-filled. "I see . . . a conflict in your life," she said softly. "Something weighing on you. A male presence . . . feels significant. Bound to you, somehow."

The woman's eyes widened, her grip tightening. "Yes! It's my husband," she whispered. "He's been distant lately. I think he might be having an affair."

Sylvia nodded sagely. She had picked that up the moment the woman walked in-her thoughts swirling with suspicion and worry.

"He's hiding something," Sylvia said, holding her gaze. "But it's not what you think."

The woman's thoughts sharpened instantly. °The phone calls. The late nights at the office. If it's not an affair, then what?°

Sylvia smiled inwardly. People didn't realize how much their minds gave away when they were emotional. "He's under pressure," she added. "From work. Money. Something financial, perhaps?"

The woman gasped. "His company has been struggling for months. Do you think that's it?"

Sylvia tilted her head as if focusing harder. "Yes. He's worried about providing for you and the family, about losing everything."

The woman dissolved into tears. Sylvia leaned forward, offering a tissue. "Trust me," she said gently. "He loves you. You just need to support him through this."

As the woman dabbed her eyes, Sylvia let her mind drift deeper into the woman's thoughts. With more intentional questions, more images flashed-a password scribbled on a notepad, a jewelry box hidden in the closet, the layout of her house . . . She committed every detail to memory.

. . .

It had been three years since Sylvia started calling herself a psychic.

At first, it was a simple scam-a flea market table, a thrift store crystal ball, a cheap scarf tied around her head. People loved the mystique, and she had a knack for keeping them hooked.

But over time, her gift turned it into something bigger.

People's thoughts gave away everything-their fears, their secrets, their routines. It wasn't just about telling them what they wanted to hear. It was about knowing. And knowing was power.

She started feeding details to Danny, who had a talent for slipping into places he didn't belong.

"I need something from you," Sylvia had told him one night, back when she was still living in the alley. "You're good at stealing. I'm good at finding out where the valuables are."

Danny had been skeptical at first. But after their first successful job-a house Sylvia had picked clean from the inside out-he was a believer.

Now, Danny trusted her completely. They had a system. Sylvia read her clients, pulling out details about their homes, safes, and security codes. Danny handled the rest.

"Mrs. Pearls is out of town this weekend," Sylvia said that night, counting the cash the woman had given her for the reading. "Her husband's at the office, working late. The safe is in their bedroom closet, behind a stack of sweaters. Code is 4528."

Danny grinned. "You're scary, you know that?"

Sylvia smirked. "I know."

Thanks to their partnership, she had managed to leave the streets behind.

Her apartment was small-just one room with a lumpy mattress and a stove that barely worked-but it was hers. She had clean clothes, enough food, and a growing sense of confidence.

But something was missing.

The jobs she and Danny pulled were small. Even with her psychic act and the extra cash from the robberies, Sylvia knew she could do more. She wanted bigger jobs, bigger payouts.

So when she met Marcus, it felt like fate.

She had seen him in the market, arguing with a vendor over a bag of cash. He wasn't much older than her, maybe eighteen, but he carried himself like someone who had seen the worst of the world and come out grinning.

"You're not as sneaky as you think," Marcus had said the first time they spoke.

Sylvia stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you," he said, smirking. "That wallet you lifted two stalls back. Rookie move, by the way. You should've waited until his head was turned before bumping into him."

Sylvia stiffened, but Marcus only laughed. "Relax, kid. I'm not going to rat you out. I've done worse."

That caught her attention.

Over the next few weeks, Marcus kept showing up, always with that same smug grin and easy confidence. He was a thief, but not like Danny. Where Danny focused on quick, simple jobs, Marcus had a talent for planning.

"You want to make real money?" he asked one night, leaning against the wall of her building.

Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

He took her into a public library and led her to a computer in the far corner.

"The internet is a treasure trove," Marcus said.

He taught Sylvia things she had never considered-burner phones, fake IDs, and how to create convincing paper trails. Articles about scammers and fraudsters gave her ideas she hadn't even thought of before.

Over the next few days, Marcus showed her how to craft fake identities. How to change her appearance with makeup, wigs, and clothing. How to forge documents and talk her way into places she had no business being.

"People see what they want to see," he told her. "You just have to give them a reason to believe it."

With her mind-reading abilities, Sylvia was a quick study. She could tell exactly what people wanted to hear-what would make them trust her.

By the time she was done, she had five different identities.

Her favorite was Claire Sommers, a college student with a bubbly personality and a knack for charm.

Claire got her into places Sylvia could never have gone before-coffee shops where rich kids spent their parents' money, boutique stores with distracted clerks, even a charity event where she walked away with a wallet full of cash lifted from a guest.

Then there was Emily Hart, a shy bookworm who barely spoke above a whisper. Sylvia used Emily to gain sympathy, letting people believe she was just another quiet girl down on her luck.

Each alias had a purpose, a role to play. She rotated through them like outfits, never staying in one too long.

She also learned how to erase her presence. She paid for everything in cash, avoided cameras when she could, and never stayed in one place longer than a few weeks.

Danny helped where he could, introducing her to people who knew how to get things done. One of them was Vic, an older man with gray hair and a cigarette always dangling from his lips.

"You're too young for this kind of work," Vic said when Danny first brought her to him.

Sylvia shrugged. "I'm good at what I do."

Vic studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright, kid. Let's see what you've got."

Under Vic's guidance, Sylvia sharpened her skills. He taught her how to create IDs that could pass casual inspection, how to layer fake documents with just enough detail to seem authentic.

"People don't look too closely unless you give them a reason to," Vic said, handing her a freshly laminated driver's license with her photo on it.

Sylvia grinned. "Thanks, Uncle Vic."

He snorted. "Don't call me that."

By the time she was done learning from Vic, Sylvia could be anyone.

One afternoon, she sat in her apartment, spreading her fake IDs and documents across the table. Each one felt like a new layer of armor.

She wasn't just Sylvia Hopkins anymore. She was Claire. Emily. Rachel. And whoever else she needed to be.

No one could pin her down. No one could trap her.

As she stared at the IDs, a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Catch me if you can," she whispered.