Chapter 3: The Big Score
1624 Words
Sylvia’s instincts screamed at her to leave, but she forced herself to stay calm. She didn’t look up, didn’t let her steps falter. She just kept moving, her mind working faster than ever.
She found a bench near the pond and lowered herself onto it, her hands trembling slightly. Part of her wanted to run, but that would only confirm their suspicions.
Instead, she pulled out a crumpled tissue and dabbed at her face, playing the role of a weary old woman while she scanned the area.
The agents were good—dressed like normal people, blending into the crowd. But their thoughts gave them away.
°No sign of her yet. Stay in position. They often come earlier than agreed to investigate the location.°
°She’s smart, but we’ve got her cornered this time.°
°Keep an eye on that couple by the fountain. The woman could be her in disguise.°
Sylvia swallowed hard. They didn’t know she was already here. Didn’t know she could hear everything.
But that wouldn’t last long.
She needed a way out.
Her escape came in the form of a toddler’s sudden tantrum near the playground. The child’s wails drew attention—even from the agents. Sylvia stood slowly, letting her back hunch further as she quietly made her way toward the east entrance.
As she neared the small coffee shop on the corner, she sensed two agents closing in and rushed inside. Her target was the restroom—she needed to switch into a disguise that gave her more freedom to move. But just as she turned the corner, a man stepped out from the other end, nearly colliding with her.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Sharp suit, expertly tailored. His cologne hit her like a memory—warm leather and spice. Expensive. Unforgettable.
Their eyes locked for a single, jarring second before they both stumbled.
“Watch where you're f*****g go—” he began, then stopped, taking in the sight of a hunched old woman in a frumpy coat.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Sylvia gasped, her voice trembling. She pressed a hand to her chest and ducked her head, letting her shoulders sag even more. “Didn’t see you there.”
The man’s gaze lingered, curious. Behind him, a bodyguard stepped forward.
“Everything all right, sir?” the guard asked, eyeing Sylvia.
The man raised a hand calmly. “It’s fine. No harm done.”
Sylvia held her breath as her gift picked up the agents entering the coffee shop, their presence prickling against her skin.
°This is where I'd be if I were the Chameleon.°
°I'd get a promotion if I capture her. I must observe everyone here.°
Only then did she act.
She straightened her posture—not fully, just enough to shift from frail to composed. Her spine lengthened. Her energy changed.
The man’s brows drew together in confusion. “Is this some—”
“Shhh,” she said gently, pressing a finger to his lips. “Be a gentleman. Hold this.”
She handed him her bag. And he—too stunned to do anything else—took it.
In one motion, she removed the gray wig, dark hair tumbling down like silk. The man’s breath caught.
The guard took a step forward, but froze—clearly just as mesmerized.
Before either of them could say a word, she darted into the ladies’ room. Quickly, she peeled off the aging props, wiped away the heavy makeup, and reapplied just powder and a faint pink lipstick. As skilled as she was, it didn’t take long.
When she stepped back out, he was still standing there, bag in hand, wide-eyed.
He stared at her clothes—those of the old woman—and then at her face: young, striking.
“Wha—wha . . . Is this a prank?” He glanced around. The bodyguard followed his lead, scanning for cameras.
“Maybe,” Sylvia teased.
She removed the oversized coat, revealing a sharply cut blazer over a silk blouse and pencil skirt. The clothes alone redefined her—elegant, wealthy, untouchable.
From the bag, she pulled out low heels and a pair of sleek black sunglasses. Slipped them on. Smooth. Effortless.
The final touch—a structured purse that screamed old money.
She plucked the now-empty bag from his hands and tossed it into the nearest trash can.
“Let’s go,” she said with a smile, pulling him outside. The bodyguard followed, seemingly amused, as if wondering where this was headed.
The two agents sat, scanning the crowd, but she didn’t spare them a glance. She walked past them like she belonged—confident, unreadable—with a mystified gentleman on her arm.
Outside, she said, “Thank you.” And before he could speak—again—she blew him a kiss, winked at the guard, and turned on her heels, disappearing down the street.
The man stood frozen.
His bodyguard chuckled. “You good, sir?”
Evans Alberto—mafia billionaire—exhaled. “Was I just treated like a fool by that lady?”
But in his mind, he was already replaying her face. 'She is beautiful.'
He shook his head. “Forget it. Let’s go.”
What he didn’t know was that fate would soon cross their paths again—and next time, it wouldn’t be harmless.
~•~
Back at her apartment, Sylvia moved like a storm, grabbing everything important and tossing it into a duffel bag. Her aliases, burner phones, cash—it all went in.
By the time she left the apartment, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the street. She slipped into a cab, keeping her head down as she gave the driver an address in a different part of the city.
Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look at it. She couldn’t risk whoever was on the other end tracking her.
She tossed the phone out the window, watching as it shattered on the pavement behind them.
"Start fresh," she muttered to herself. "Start over."
But even as the cab pulled away, Sylvia’s thoughts raced.
The Feds weren’t going to stop. They didn’t know what she could do, but they were on her trail, already sniffing out her identity like wolves.
~•~
Her next hideout was a luxury penthouse—nothing less for this alias. On paper, she was a politician’s mistress. In reality, she was a ghost with excellent taste.
Just because she was on the run didn’t mean she had to live like a rat. She’d survived the gutter once. Never again.
Still, the run-in at the park left her rattled. The agents had been too close.
Sylvia poured herself a glass of wine and stared out at the glittering skyline. She felt something she hadn’t felt in years: cornered.
“I need something big,” she muttered. "Something that will let me disappear for a long time."
The next morning, she sat at her desk, tabs open across her laptop screen. Forums. Deep web chat rooms. Black market whispers. She was searching for the perfect mark—one big enough to fund her next vanishing act.
CEOs. Politicians. Socialites. All familiar, all too small.
Then she found him.
Evans Alberto.
Her eyes narrowed.
The man from the coffee shop.
A slow smirk curved her lips. “Small world,” she murmured. “Who’d have guessed that charming face belonged to the devil himself?”
Officially, he was a billionaire with stakes in tech and shipping. But in the darker corners of the web, his name held weight.
Drug rings. Laundering. Arms deals.
He wasn’t just rich. He was lethal.
Most people would run from someone like Evans Alberto. But to Sylvia? He was perfect.
Rich. Private. Ruthless. And most importantly—his money wasn’t clean, which meant he wouldn’t go crying to the cops if some of it vanished.
“Bingo,” she said softly.
She needed intel. And fast.
Within hours, she had Marcus on a secure line. Her closest ally, childhood friend, and tech genius. While she ran the cons, Marcus cracked the systems.
It took convincing—Evans was dangerous—but Marcus finally caved.
Together, they dug deep. Hacked databases. Intercepted encrypted messages. Pieced together a digital blueprint of Evans’ empire.
And Sylvia? She used her gift—the one the FBI didn’t know about—to pull secrets from anyone stupid enough to speak his name.
The more they uncovered, the more confident Sylvia became.
Evans was meticulous, but he wasn’t invincible.
Then they found it—the jackpot.
He was in the process of purchasing two luxury private jets, a deal worth $170 million. The transaction was being handled discreetly, with only a small team involved.
Sylvia’s pulse quickened as she stared at the screen, Marcus’s face in the top-right corner of their Zoom call.
$170 million.
More than enough to disappear for years—maybe even forever.
Marcus could feel her excitement through the screen, that familiar rush she always got when planning a big con.
But this one was different.
This wasn’t just about money. This was about survival.
For the next four hours, they refined the plan, going over every detail until it was airtight.
When they finally reached a solid strategy, Sylvia closed her laptop, a sly grin tugging at her lips.
“This is it,” she murmured. “The score of a lifetime.”
She stood and walked to the window, watching the city lights shimmer like stars. She felt in control again.
Evans Alberto had no idea what was coming. She would make sure he never forgot her name, The Chameleon.
- Writer
