The unmarked sedan sliced through early morning traffic, blending into the flow of commuters. Behind tinted windows, Miami scrolled past in bleached-out pastels and palm trees bending in the coastal breeze. Just another Tuesday in paradise, except for the woman in the back seat being driven toward her own dissolution.
Evie's hands lay unnaturally still in her lap in a deliberate effort to control her trembling nerves. She watched familiar landmarks recede, mentally cataloging the pieces of her life she was temporarily abandoning. The city looked different somehow, as if she were already viewing it through someone else's eyes.
The driver hadn't spoken a word since they'd left her building. Occasionally his eyes would flick to the rearview mirror, but his expression was unreadable.
They turned into Coral Gables where the landscape shifted to affluence. The buildings here stood taller, cleaner, with glass windows reflecting clouds and sky. The driver slowed, eventually pulling into the underground parking garage of a twelve-story apartment complex.
He stepped out first, opening Evie's door. "This way, Ms. Sinclair," he said.
Evie followed him to an elevator that required a key fob for access. They rode to the eighth floor in silence, broken only by the mechanical sound of the door opening. The hallway they entered into was carpeted in a muted beige that absorbed the sound of their footsteps.
Apartment 812. The driver knocked twice, then stepped aside, his job complete.
The door opened to reveal Agent Grant dressed in the same unremarkable suit he'd worn the day before as if he existed in a perpetual state of professional readiness.
"Come in," he said, standing aside. "We've been expecting you."
Evie stepped through the threshold into what would be her home for the next three months. The apartment was spacious by Miami standards, with an open concept living area that flowed into a kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating a space that had been carefully constructed to tell a story about its fictional inhabitant.
Lexi Rayes stood by the kitchen island somehow managing to look both relaxed and coiled with potential energy. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, and she wore slim-fitting black pants with a white button-down.
"Welcome home," Lexi said, the words carrying a weight that made Evie's heartbeat stutter. "Or at least, welcome to Vanessa Blake's home."
"It's... nice," Evie managed, unable to formulate a more coherent response as she took in her surroundings. The furniture was attractive but inexpensive, found in IKEA catalogs. Potted succulents stood on various surfaces. A collection of framed art prints hung on one wall, selected to suggest someone with aspirations toward sophistication without the resources to achieve it.
"Before we begin," Grant said, closing the door behind her, "we'll need your keys and wedding ring."
Evie's fingers instinctively found the gold band that had adorned her finger for the past four years. "My ring?"
"You can't be Vanessa Blake and wear Evelyn Sinclair's wedding ring," Lexi explained, her tone matter of fact.
Evie hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. She hadn't considered this particular sacrifice, hadn't even thought to remove the ring before leaving. But now she found herself oddly grateful for the oversight. She hadn't left it at home where Joe would have found it, a physical symbol of their separation that would have devastated him in ways she couldn't bear to imagine.
"Consider it a temporary loan," Grant said, his voice gentler than Lexi's as he extended his palm. "You'll get it back just as good as you left it."
With a deep breath, Evie twisted the ring off her finger, feeling the strange lightness where its familiar weight had been. She placed it in Grant's hand alongside her keys, watching as they disappeared into an envelope he labeled with her name.
Lexi tapped her fingers on the counter. "You left your phone behind, right?"
Evie hesitated briefly, her brows furrowing, working to mask her irritation at the impossibly tight restrictions. "Yes. I didn't bring it."
"Good," Lexi said, sliding a set of keys across the kitchen island. "Apartment, mailbox, car, and building fob. The Honda Civic in parking spot 97 is yours. Same model as your personal vehicle for easy transition."
Evie picked up the keys. "So, just like that, I'm someone else now?"
"You're still you," Grant replied. "You've just stepped into a different life temporarily. Speaking of which, let's introduce you to Vanessa."
Lexi opened a folder that had been sitting on the counter and spread several documents across the surface. "Vanessa Marie Blake," she began, her tone shifting to something like a briefing. "Twenty-four years old, born in Tampa, Florida. Recently relocated to Miami after ending a relationship with a controlling boyfriend, Trevor. Currently seeking employment while working part-time retail. Limited savings but determined to build a new life."
Evie's eyes moved from document to document, her analytical mind already cataloging details. "You kept my age the same."
"We tried to keep as much consistent with your real life as possible," Grant explained. "It reduces the risk of slipping up. The key deviations are your name, your relationship status, and your immediate history."
"According to our background," Lexi continued, "Vanessa met a woman at a bar last week who works as a dancer and mentioned the money to be made at clubs. Vanessa, desperate for financial stability and a fresh start, decided to explore the possibility."
Evie's eyes were drawn to a small stack of additional documents: a social security card, a credit card, a gym membership, and a rental agreement. Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to create a paper trail for a woman who didn't exist.
"These are your banking credentials," Grant said, pushing a card toward her with a username and password written down on a sticky note. "There's $5,200 in the checking account and $800 in savings. Enough to be believable, but not enough to be comfortable. Vanessa would be motivated by financial pressure."
Lexi handed Evie a smartphone already removed from its packaging. "This is yours now. We've set it up with the apps and accounts Vanessa would use. Banking, social media, rideshare, food delivery."
Evie took the phone, scrolling through its contents with growing discomfort. Someone had crafted a digital life for Vanessa with social media posts showing glimpses of Tampa life. The attention to detail was both impressive and unnerving.
Evie paused when she spotted a couple dating apps.
"Dating apps?" she questioned, looking up at Lexi.
"Essential," Lexi replied. "Vanessa's on dating apps. She's reclaiming her independence after Trevor. Simple as that."
She opened one of the dating apps, finding a profile already populated with photos of herself and a bio that read: "New to Miami. Looking for good conversation and maybe someone to show me around!"
There she was, her face, her body, but presented in a way she'd never have chosen for herself. One photo showed her in a bikini at the beach, a shot Joe had taken on their weekend getaway to Key West last summer. The memory had been repurposed, stripped of its context and meaning, now serving as bait for strange men to evaluate and desire her.
"These photos..." she began, her voice faltering slightly. "Where did you get these?"
