The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 155

Just as the plainclothes detectives moved to tail him, several men in sharp black suits strode quickly across the concourse, intercepting them.

The lead man flipped open his credentials—National Security.

"Gentlemen. A word."

The detectives froze.

"We're local PD, we're in the middle of an operation—"

"We know," the suit interrupted, his face a stone mask. "Your target is now under our jurisdiction. Orders from the top."

He pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and shoved it forward.

Wyatt snatched it. His eyes immediately darted to the bright red federal seal and the signature at the bottom.

XXX.

"Direct authorization from X-Old."

The color drained from Wyatt's face.

He jerked his head toward the security gates—David was already walking through, disappearing into the sea of travelers.

"But..."

"No buts," the agent said, tucking his badge away. "Go report back to your brass. X-Old will explain it personally."

With that, the suits pivoted and vanished into the bustling airport crowd.

Wyatt stood rooted to the spot, gripping the document until his knuckles turned white.

Frantic chatter erupted in his earpiece. "Cap, we lost him! He cleared security and we can't follow! What's the call?"

He didn't answer.

He simply stared at the signature on the page—a name that commanded absolute reverence in the medical world—and the crimson stamp representing the highest echelons of power.

...

*

Half an hour later.

As the plane tore through the clouds, David leaned back in his first-class seat and closed his eyes.

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