CHAPTER 1: DIGITAL PREDATOR
AT 8:32 P.M., JOHN LEE-JING sat in his basement surrounded by twenty-seven glowing monitors, each one a window into someone else’s private life.
The blue light cast his face in ghostly shadow, highlighting the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He’d lost thirty pounds oversix months—meals forgot-ten, sleep reduced to brief collapses when his body gave out. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3played softly through wireless speakers—the perfect soundtrack for his dark work.
Twenty-seven households. Twenty-seven families. Twenty-seven lives laid bare through technology they didn’t know existed.
The basement air carried the smell of stale coffee and unwashed clothing—a smell John no longer noticed. The servers hummedat a frequency he felt in his teeth more than heard. Energy drink cans formed a small pyramid beside his keyboard. The remains of a protein bar, three days old, sat untouched on a paper plate. He couldn’t remember his last real meal. Couldn’t remember his last shower. These details had become irrelevant—background noise to the work that consumed him.
The surveillance system he’d built over five years was the greatest achieve-ment of his life. Cameras hidden in smoke detectors, air vents, light fixtures, even picture frames. Audio equipment that could pick up whispered conversations through walls. Motion sensors that tracked movement patterns. Facial recognition that logged every visitor.
All of it disguised as legitimate security monitoring for Vellamar Estates in Eldorado Hills, CA.
Now, at 8:35 p.m., his basement command center hummed with efficiency. Six screens focused on a single property. The remaining displays rotated automatically through other Vellamar homes—families eating dinner in separate rooms, couples reading in bed, a security guard pacing his living room as if something troubled his thoughts.
Tonight, his attention belonged to Monitor 3.
Jessica Williamsen. Age 33. Single mother. Dental student, eighteen months from graduation. Eight-year-old daughter sleeping upstairs. A double life that John had been documenting since spring.
The monitor showed her bedroom, where she prepared for her evening depar-ture with careful attention. Designer dresses lay across her bed. Expensive jewelry arranged on her dresser. The transformation from dental student to something else entirely.
“Beautiful,” John whispered to the screen, fingers moving across keyboards with practiced efficiency. “So blissfully unaware.”
He reached for his pill organizer—Adderall to sharpen focus, Xanax to smooth the edges, a cocktail he’d refined over years of all-night surveillance ses-sions. The pills sharpened everything as he watched her select the black Valentino dressfrom her closet. The fabric caught the light as she held it against her body, checking the effect in her full-length mirror.
The transformation fascinated him—the deliberate shift from one identity to another, the careful construction of a second selfthat existed only after dark.
His breathing quickened. His fingers left damp prints on the keyboard. He knew her secrets. She had no idea he existed.
“I see you, Jessica,” John murmured, leaning closer until his breath fogged the glass.
He pulled back, wiping the screen with his sleeve—a gesture that had become ritual.
“Where are you going tonight?” John whispered, zooming in as she checked her reflection one final time. “What are youhiding, Jessica?”
John pulled up the financial profile he’d assembled through months of patient observation. Tuition invoices left on herkitchen counter. Mortgage statements visible through her office window. Credit card bills she opened at her desk. The camerasshowed him everything she thought was private.
The pattern had been consistent for six months. Late-night departures two to three times weekly. Returns between 1 and 3 a.m. Designer clothing that dental school couldn’t possibly afford. Cash deposits that didn’t match her reported income.
The math didn’t balance. Not even close.
“Hidden income source,” John murmured, updating her file. “Escort work.
High probability. Awaiting visual confirmation before contact.”
His fingers paused over the keyboard. On a shelf beside his workstation—a shelf he’d built from server rack components—sat asmall collection of items. A coffee mug from one resident’s kitchen. A child’s hair ribbon from another. A business card. Aphotograph. Tokens from the lives he observed.
Soon, he would add something from Jessica. Something personal.
He watched her apply lipstick—a shade called “Confession” according to the product he’d identified by zooming in on thetube. The irony made him smile.
At 8:45 p.m., she pulled out of her driveway. His cameras tracked her depar-ture like a hunter tracking prey. Headlightsswept across the suburban street, illuminating trimmed lawns and sleeping houses where families believed they lived beyond observation.
Monitor 3 shifted to her living room, where the babysitter sat reading while Lily slept upstairs. The babysitter’s presence confirmedthat Jessica’s destination wasn’t innocent—this was work, whatever that work might be.
The GPS tracker activated the moment her engine started—another fea-ture of Vellamar’s “comprehensive security system”that residents didn’t realize extended to their personal vehicles. The small device hidden in her car’s undercar-riage providedreal-time location data.
A blue dot appeared on his screen, moving toward Beverly Hills.
“Four Seasons territory,” John said, pulling up a map overlay. “High-end hotels. Fits the theory.”
His medication sharpened his focus. The investigation was moving forward.
Soon he would have proof. Soon he would have power.
Power over Jessica. Power over her daughter’s future. Power that would make her do whatever he required to keep her secretsburied.
The thought sent warmth spreading through his chest. He closed his eyes for just a moment, savoring it.
He pulled up the message he’d drafted days ago, waiting for the perfect moment:
Beautiful black Valentino dress tonight. Five words. Simple. Specific. Devastating. But notyet. Patience was essential.
John had learned patience from years of surveillance. He had watched relationships form and collapse. Had observed affairsbegin and end. Had docu-mented secrets that residents believed would die with them. The watching had taught him that timing was everything—the perfect moment could break a person more completely than violence.
At 9:30 p.m., the blue dot stopped moving. Four Seasons Beverly Hills. Valet.
John made careful notes:
LOCATION: Four Seasons Beverly Hills DURATION: Ongoing CLOTHING: Black Valentino dress (estimated retail $3,200) CONCLUSION: High-end escort work—high probability
The digital clock changed to 12:01 a.m. A new day beginning while John’s work continued with steady rhythm.
He stretched, joints popping from hours of sitting still, and reached for another energy drink. The basement felt like a womb—warm, dark, his.
At 1:15 a.m., the blue dot began moving again.
“Coming home,” he said, pulling up camera angles covering her driveway.
She pulled in at 1:53 a.m., garage door opening with quiet efficiency. Three different cameras captured her arrival.
The hallway camera caught her pausing to remove her heels, the Valentino dress still perfect despite the long evening.
The staircase camera recorded her climbing to check on Lily.
The bedroom camera logged her standing in Lily’s doorway, watching her daughter sleep with fierce protectiveness.
John leaned forward, documenting every detail:
ARRIVAL: 1:53 a.m. (5 hours, 8 minutes total) CONDITION: Dress intact, heels carried BEHAVIOR: Immediate child check,protective pattern consistent CONCLUSION: Escort work—high probability. Visual confirmation pending. On Monitor 3, Jessicamoved away from Lily’s door and toward her own bed-room. The bathroom camera caught her starting the shower, steam rising around her as she washed away the evening.
Her phone sat on the counter. Screen dark.
John’s fingers moved to his phone, opening the draft message he’d prepared.
He reviewed the words slowly, savoring each one:
TEXT MESSAGE—UNKNOWN NUMBER: Beautiful black Valentino dress tonight.
At 1:57 a.m., he pressed send.