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Avery Sinclair was easy to watch without being noticed.

For the person doing the watching, it was hard not to sneer at how the woman went about her day with unmatched arrogance, walking along in her high heels and business skirt, with her long, red hair bouncing perfectly with each step.

Slumping down behind the steering wheel to avoid being spotted in their car parked on the street, the observer took note of how Sinclair moved through the world as if it was hers for the taking, oblivious to the possibility that she might be in any danger.

As she walked back to her Porsche 718 Cayman after exiting the mansion that she was preparing to put on the market, she looked absently at her phone. She had no clue that the person who was going to snuff out her existence was less than a hundred feet away, surveying her every move.

For Sinclair, this was just another perfect mid-morning on another untroubled day, one where she could demean others, engage in petty cruelties, and still enjoy living in the lap of luxury. But what she didn”t know was that these happy, easy times were about to come to an end. Someone was going to make her last moments on this earth a living nightmare. And if things went according to plan, that nightmare would end suddenly and painfully.

Avery Sinclair got in her Porsche and sped off. Her observer, parked just across the street, let her go. There would be time to catch up later.