THE LAST CON

Evelyn's POV At exactly 7:43 p.m., the woman walked into the Ministry of Internal Affairs. No one stopped her. She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had crossed those polished marble floors countless times before. A charcoal coat was buttoned neatly over a black dress, her dark hair was swept into a low bun, and the leather handbag resting against her side looked ordinary enough to escape suspicion. The security guard smiled. "Good evening." She returned the smile without breaking stride. "Evening." "Identification, please." She handed him a black access card. The scanner beeped. A green light flashed. "Thank you, Ms. Sloane." He returned the card with an apologetic smile. "Seventh floor." She slipped the card back into her handbag. "Have a good evening." "You too." She stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut. No one noticed the miniature camera concealed inside the silver clasp of her handbag. No one noticed the thin latex gloves hidden beneath the sleeves of her coat. And no one noticed the way her lips moved as she counted each passing floor. Three. Five. Seven. The elevator chimed. When the doors opened, she walked into a quiet corridor lined with expensive paintings and polished oak doors. A secretary glanced up from her desk. "Can I help you?" "I'm here to see Minister Adrian Wolfe." "I'm sorry, Minister Wolfe isn't taking visitors." The woman removed a cream-colored envelope from her handbag and placed it gently on the desk. "Then give him this." The secretary frowned. "What is it?" "A reason to cancel every meeting he has tonight." Curiosity won. She picked up the envelope and disappeared into the minister's office. Less than thirty seconds later, the door swung open. "Send her in." Minister Adrian Wolfe stood beside his desk, gripping an old photograph so tightly the edges had begun to bend. His eyes never left the image. "Where did you get this?" The woman closed the office door behind her. "You recognize it." "I asked you a question." "So did I." Silence settled between them. The minister swallowed. "What do you want?" "The truth." "There are some truths better left buried." "Twenty-six years is long enough." His expression changed. It wasn't anger. It was real, unmistakable fear. "You have no idea what you're interfering with." "I know enough." He shook his head. "No." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "You really don't." The lights flickered once, then twice. Darkness swallowed the office. A gunshot shattered the silence. Then another. Someone screamed outside. Glass exploded across the floor. By the time the emergency lights blinked back to life... Minister Adrian Wolfe lay motionless behind his desk. The woman was gone. Eight minutes later, the seventh floor swarmed with police officers. Detective Inspector Nathan Cole stood before the surveillance monitors without saying a word. "Play it again." The technician restarted the footage. The woman entered the building. She greeted the security guard. She rode the elevator. She walked calmly toward the minister's office. Not once did she hesitate. Not once did she look over her shoulder. "Zoom in." The image sharpened until every feature became unmistakable. "Run facial recognition." The software searched for only a few seconds. A notification appeared. MATCH CONFIRMED EVELYN SLOANE The room fell silent. Cole stared at the screen for a long moment before speaking. "Send her face to every police station in the country." "Yes, sir." "Notify every airport, seaport, and border checkpoint." The technician nodded. Cole continued watching the frozen image. Something about her bothered him. Professional killers usually left behind panic. This woman had left behind composure. He narrowed his eyes. "Whoever she is..." "...she just declared war on this country." Forty-two minutes later... If retirement had a scent, it smelled like burnt coffee and old paper. I wrinkled my nose as I spread the blueprints across the café table. One last job. I'd been repeating those words to myself for the past six months. One last con. One last paycheck. Then I'd disappear. No more aliases. No more forged passports. No more sleeping with one eye open. Just peace. The waitress appeared beside my table with a familiar smile. "The usual?" I looked up. "You already know the answer." She laughed softly before heading toward the counter. I turned my attention back to the blueprint. Only one room mattered. Restricted Archive. Project Lazarus. Whatever was hidden inside that archive had convinced someone to offer me enough money to vanish forever. I intended to earn every cent. My phone vibrated. The screen displayed Unknown Number, but I ignored it. It rang again. Then a third time. Persistent strangers had a remarkable talent for ruining quiet evenings. With a sigh, I answered. "You've got thirty seconds." Silence stretched over the line before a man's voice finally spoke. "Turn around." Every instinct I possessed sharpened at once. Slowly, I lifted my head toward the television mounted above the café counter. My face stared back at me. Beneath it, bold red letters flashed across the screen. BREAKING NEWS MINISTER ASSASSINATED POLICE SEARCH FOR PRIME SUSPECT EVELYN SLOANE The coffee slipped from my fingers. The cup hit the floor and shattered. Conversations died. The silence lasted less than a second, but it was enough for me to see confusion spread across the customers' faces. It was enough for someone to glance from the television to me. The man closest to the counter narrowed his eyes. His lips parted. "That's her" I was already moving. Not fast. Fast drew attention. Calm made people hesitate. I crouched, picked up my fallen blueprint before anyone could step on it, and grabbed my bag from the chair. The waitress hurried over with a dustpan. "Oh my God, are you alright?" I looked at the shattered mug. "I'm fine. Clumsy moment." She offered an awkward smile. "It happens." If only she knew. Behind me, the television continued. "Authorities have identified the suspect as twenty-six-year-old Evelyn Sloane. Citizens are advised not to approach her. She is considered extremely dangerous." A customer stood. "No..." I felt his stare settle on the side of my face. "I've seen her." My pulse remained steady. Never react first. Let other people make the mistake. "Isn't that...?" Another voice joined in. "It looks like her." "Should we call the police?" "They said she's dangerous." Dangerous was an interesting choice of word. If I'd actually been dangerous, none of them would've had time to ask questions. I slipped my phone into my pocket and adjusted the strap of my bag. I took one step, then another, heading toward the hallway leading to the restrooms instead of the front door. Everyone expected fugitives to run for the nearest exit. Which was exactly why I didn't. "Miss?" the waitress called. I turned with my best apologetic smile. "Could I use your restroom before I leave?" "Of course." She pointed toward the hallway. "Thank you." I disappeared around the corner. The moment I was out of sight, the smile vanished. The corridor was empty, which was exactly what I needed. At the end of the hallway was a door marked STAFF ONLY. The door was locked, at least for most people. I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a thin titanium pick no longer than a hairpin. Three seconds later, the lock clicked and surrendered. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me. The kitchen buzzed with noise. Pans hissed while orders were shouted across the room. No one paid attention to another woman walking through with confidence. Confidence was the best disguise money couldn't buy. A young chef glanced at me. "Customers aren't allowed back here." I smiled. "The manager asked me to grab him." He frowned before nodding. "Oh.” That single word bought me everything I needed. By the time he realized he'd never seen me before, I was already pushing open the back door. Cool evening air greeted me. Rain had begun to fall, which was perfect. Within moments, the sidewalks filled with umbrellas. Faces disappeared beneath hoods. Reflections blurred across wet pavement. The city swallowed me whole. I kept walking. Not because I didn't want to run. Because running invited witnesses. Three blocks later, I stopped beneath the awning of a closed bookstore. Only then did I pull out my phone. There were no missed calls or messages, nothing. It was too clean. This hadn't been spontaneous. Whoever planned this knew exactly where I'd be and the precise moment I'd look at the television. They had spent weeks, perhaps even months, building a trap with my name on it. My gaze drifted to the blueprint sticking out of my bag. Project Lazarus. Hours ago, Project Lazarus had been my last job. Now it was my only lead. I folded the blueprint carefully and slipped it back into my bag. If someone had gone to this much effort to turn me into the most wanted woman in the country... Then whatever was hidden inside Project Lazarus was worth far more than the money I'd been promised. A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Whoever had started this game clearly believed they knew me. They didn't, because they had made one fatal mistake. They had given a con artist a mystery, and I never walked away from either.