Page 172 of Beyond Protection
The week before, she'd sent me a photo of her latest work—a bowl she'd let collapse on the wheel, then rebuilt and re-fired. She filled the cracks with gold.
Some breaks made you stronger. Some cracks let the light through.
Mac:Plants will survive until Friday. Probably.
The office phone rang—Ma, asking if we were coming to Sunday dinner, reminding me she was making Uncle Graham's stew, saying Eamon looked too thin in a way that meant she thought we both worked too hard.
"We'll be there," I promised. "And Ma? He's fine. We both are."
"You're doing good work, sweetheart." Her voice softened. "Your father would be proud."
Eamon appeared in my doorway again. "Michael brought me something. It's a request from the management of a K-pop group on a world tour. Violet Frequency."
"And?"
"And they need protection. High-profile. International. Credible threats. The lead vocalist is twenty-three and terrified."
I thought about being twenty-three and famous. About what it had cost me.
"You should take it," I said.
He turned to face me fully. "It's three months. I'd be gone most of that time."
"You'd be doing what you're best at. And I'd be here, keeping things running. Same as always."
"This is different."
"Because it's bigger? Or because you think I can't handle the office without you?"
"Because I'd miss you." Simple. Honest. "Three months is a long time."
"We've survived worse."
His laugh was soft. "Yeah. We have."
Later that night, we were still at the office. We had case files spread out on the conference room table—active clients, with details about the constant work of keeping people safe.
My phone rang. Michael's name was on the screen.
I put it on speaker. "You're working late."
"Says the guy still at the office." His voice was slightly edgy. "Got an update on that L.A. call. Violet Frequency's management wants to move fast. They've had two more incidents this week—someone breached hotel security in Tokyo, and they got a backstage surprise in Bangkok. The band's scared."
Eamon looked up from the file he was reading.
"They want our best on this," Michael continued. "Someone who can coordinate international security, work with local law enforcement in six countries, and handle the logistics of protecting five people in front of stadium crowds. Someone who understands what it's like being watched every second."
"That's a tall order," I said.
"That's why they're willing to pay what they're offering." A pause. "They need an answer by tomorrow morning."
I glanced at Eamon. He was studying the file Michael had sent earlier—glossy photos of five young men in stage makeup, press clippings in Korean and English, security reports that read like nightmares.
"Send everything you have," Eamon said. "Full threat assessment, their current security setup, and venue details."
"Already in your inbox."
"We'll have an answer by morning."
