Chapter 5 The Chameleon

Sylvia adjusted the wide-brimmed hat on her head, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor of the grand lobby. She glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the layout: the security guards by the entrance, the cameras in the corners, the sleek reception desk.

She let her lips curl into a small, confident smile. This was where she belonged-among marble columns and expensive suits.

Across the room, her target emerged: Senator Gerald Worthington, flanked by two aides. His mind was an open book, thoughts swirling with stress about the upcoming election and a scandal he was desperately trying to keep quiet.

°If anyone finds out about those offshore accounts, I'm finished.°

Perfect.

Sylvia sauntered toward him, her steps deliberate. As she passed, she "accidentally" stumbled, brushing against his arm.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she said, her voice sweet and apologetic.

Worthington barely glanced at her, muttering, "No harm done."

But she wasn't finished.

"Wait," Sylvia said, her tone shifting. She tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "You're Senator Worthington, aren't you?"

The senator turned, his expression softening. "Yes, I am. Have we met?"

"No, but I've seen your speeches," Sylvia said, her smile warm and engaging. "You're incredible. Truly. It's so inspiring to see someone fighting for what's right."

Flattery always worked. She could already see his ego inflating, his thoughts shifting to pride.

"I appreciate that," he said, his tone more pleasant now. "It's always nice to meet someone who believes in the cause."

Sylvia nodded, her expression earnest. "Oh, absolutely. Your work is so important. In fact, I'd love to contribute to your campaign. If I could just have a moment of your time . . ."

By the time Sylvia left the building, she had everything she needed: access to the senator's private schedule, details about his campaign fund, and the name of the shell company hiding his offshore accounts.

This wasn't just another con. It was a masterpiece in the making.

.

.

.

Over the years, Sylvia had built a reputation in the underground world.

Whispers spread about a young woman who could get into anyone's head, who knew your secrets before you even realized you had them. She was a ghost, untraceable and unstoppable.

They called her, the chameleon.

Her biggest jobs had made waves-an art collector swindled out of priceless paintings, a tech billionaire scammed into wiring half a million dollars to a fake charity, a pharmaceutical CEO blackmailed into "donating" millions to an anonymous account.

But no one could prove anything.

At twenty-one, Sylvia was no longer the girl scraping by in alleys or living out of a duffel bag.

She had a sleek apartment in the city, her closets filled with designer clothes and her bank accounts overflowing. Her aliases were more sophisticated now, her disguises flawless. She wasn't just surviving; she was thriving.

And yet, she wanted more.

The senator's con was just the beginning. Over the next few months, Sylvia targeted other influential figures-politicians, CEOs, socialites. She attended galas, charity events, and private meetings, blending seamlessly into their world.

Her gift made it easy. All it took was one touch, one conversation, and their thoughts became hers. She learned who they trusted, who they feared, and what skeletons they kept hidden.

And with each successful con, Sylvia's confidence grew.

But confidence wasn't the same as invincibility.

One night, after finishing a job that left a hedge fund manager short $300,000, Sylvia sat in her living room, sipping champagne. She flicked through the channels on the TV, her legs stretched out on the plush velvet sofa.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

She frowned. Only a few people had this number.

Picking it up, she saw an unknown caller ID. For a moment, she debated ignoring it, but curiosity got the better of her.

"Hello?"

There was a pause, and then a low, measured voice.

"Impressive work with Senator Worthington."

Sylvia froze. Her grip on the phone tightened.

"Who is this?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

The voice chuckled. "Someone who's been watching you. Don't worry, I'm not the police."

Her stomach twisted. "What do you want?"

"To meet. I have a proposition for you. Something bigger than anything you've ever done before."

Sylvia's mind raced. She hated being caught off guard, hated the feeling of being one step behind. But whoever this was, they knew too much.

"Fine," she said after a long pause. "Where?"

The line went dead.

Sylvia stared at the phone, her heart pounding.

Whoever this person was, they weren't just another mark. And for the first time in years, Sylvia felt something she hadn't in a long time.

Fear.

~•~

Sylvia stared at the burner phone on her kitchen counter, her jaw clenched. The call from the mysterious voice had been two days ago, and she still couldn't shake the feeling it was a setup.

Someone who knew about the Senator Worthington con wasn't just "watching." They were investigating.

Sylvia had dealt with risks before-paranoid marks, angry victims, even small-time detectives-but this felt different. Bigger.

Whoever it was, they weren't bluffing.

The message they'd texted her that morning had been short and precise:

"Tomorrow. Greenfield Park. Noon. Public enough for you?"

Sylvia knew better than to trust anyone who wanted to meet in public. Public places weren't safe. They were traps. Crowds made it easier for someone to surround you, cut off your escape.

She drummed her fingers on the counter, her mind racing. Normally, she'd ignore a meeting like this and disappear for a while. But this wasn't just about one con-they knew about her. If she ran now, she'd leave a trail.

Sylvia couldn't afford that. Not when she had so much to lose.

So she made a plan.