Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Green Beret|
Morgan spent the morning staring at spreadsheets without absorbing a single number.
Her office was located on the fourth floor of a modest building near the Chicago River. Usually, she liked the predictability of the place: the humming printers, the smell of coffee, the familiar complaints about deadlines.
Today, every ordinary sound seemed too loud.
At 10:15, she called her best friend, Denise Parker.
Denise had known Morgan since college. She was a nurse at a hospital on the city's western side and had a talent for recognizing lies before the person telling them had finished speaking.
“I need you to tell me whether I'm losing my mind,” Morgan said.
“That depends. Have you bought another houseplant you can't keep alive?”
“I'm serious.”
Denise's tone changed.
“What's happened?”
Morgan described the woman on the bus, the necklace, and the strange material floating in the water.
When she finished, Denise was silent.
Then she said, “Do not touch that thing again.”
“I already put it in a container.”
“Good. Don't throw it away, and don't let Julian see it.”
“You think he put a tracker inside?”
“I think you should stop guessing and find someone who knows.”
Denise recommended a security technician she trusted, a former colleague whose husband worked with electronic surveillance equipment for private investigators.
Morgan agreed to meet him that evening.
Before leaving work, she searched the internet for the elderly woman.
She had no name, no address, and no idea whether the woman had boarded the bus before or after her.
The only details Morgan remembered were the gray trench coat, the green beret, and the scent of lavender.
She searched local community groups and transit forums. Nothing appeared.
At lunch, she called the Chicago Transit Authority and asked whether anyone had reported an unusual incident on the route.
The employee was polite but unhelpful.
“Ma'am, we transport thousands of passengers every day.”
“I understand. I just need to know whether someone reported a lost item or requested footage.”
“Security footage requests generally require a formal process.”
Morgan thanked him and hung up.
Then an email appeared on her phone.
It came from an unfamiliar address.
The subject line contained only three words.
YOU SAW IT.
The message had no greeting.
Do not wear the necklace. Do not confront your husband yet. The capsule is only the beginning. If you want to understand why, go to the old conservatory at the Morton estate on Saturday at noon.
There was no signature.
Morgan read it twice.
The Morton estate had belonged to a wealthy family whose property outside Chicago had been converted into a public garden decades earlier. Its old conservatory was closed to visitors for restoration.
She called Denise.
“Someone knows about the necklace.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then don't go anywhere alone.”
Morgan looked at the email again.
A second message arrived.
Bring the necklace. Come without your husband. If he knows I contacted you, neither of us will be safe.
Morgan's hands went cold.
She forwarded the messages to a private email account and deleted the notifications from her lock screen.
That evening, she met the security technician at Denise's apartment. His name was Eric Lawson, and he examined the capsule through a magnifying lens.
After twenty minutes, he leaned back.
“This isn't a standard retail component.”
“What is it?”
“A miniature electronic module. I can't tell you everything from this alone, but it may have been designed to transmit or store information.”
“Can you tell whether it was tracking my location?”
“Not without testing it properly. And the water may have damaged it.”
Morgan showed him photographs of the necklace before it had been submerged.
Eric enlarged the clasp.
“There's a cavity here. Someone deliberately modified this piece.”
“Could it have recorded conversations?”
“Possibly, depending on the circuitry. But I wouldn't claim that without examining the hardware.”
Morgan swallowed.
“Could my husband have put it there?”
Eric met her eyes.
“Anyone with access to the necklace could have.”
On the way home, Morgan stopped at a pharmacy and bought a second phone. She told herself she was being cautious, not paranoid.
Julian was sitting on the couch when she entered their apartment.
“Where have you been?”
“Working late.”
“You could have called.”
“I did.”
He looked at her.
“Your phone went straight to voicemail.”
Morgan felt a chill.
Her phone had been switched off during the meeting.
“I was in a meeting.”
“With whom?”
“People from work.”
Julian stood.
“Why are you acting so strangely?”
She stared at him.
“Why did you buy me a necklace with an electronic device hidden inside it?”
For the first time, Julian's face went completely blank.
Then he laughed.
It was a terrible laugh—too quick, too loud, and utterly without humor.
“What are you talking about?”
Morgan took a step backward.
She had not told him about the capsule.
Not once.
May you like
Yet his first reaction was not confusion.
It was fear.
