Rain‑slicked pavement glistened under the late‑morning sun as Lena Rivers stepped out of her unmarked sedan onto Fifth Avenue. The industrial‑strength black umbrellas of her security detail—led by Marcus Kane—flanked her, but she still felt exposed. Tinted windows on three SUVs trailed like vultures.
“Ms. Rivers," Marcus murmured, handing her a leather swatch book. “I've updated your route. The tail moved from three vehicles to four after we left the atelier."
Lena nodded, running a fingertip over a bolt of midnight‑blue silk. “Already? They don't waste time."
“Blackwood Tower flagged you as high‑interest. I doubt it's just tabloid curiosity."
She slipped the book into her tote. “Let's hope their interest is purely aesthetic."
They walked past gleaming storefronts, shoppers scattering
