Sebastian had four, each one assigned to a certain key person in his operation: Frank, Ron, Maya, and his executive assistant at the real estate company, Gabriella, who was handling all of his business calls. Sebastian couldn’t tell her the truth of what was going on—she had no idea what he really did for a living—so he sold her a story about how he had been a victim of identity theft, his bank accounts nearly wiped out, the police suspected, by Russian hackers. Until the culprits were found, he had been advised by his accountant not to open up any new accounts—hence the need for a cheap disposable. Sebastian didn’t owe Gabriella an explanation, but revolving numbers—he used a new phone every day—were odd, the things of drug dealers, and he didn’t need Gabriella talking.

Every day at noon, Sebastian changed out his burners for new ones. It was a major pain in the ass, this process—he had to call each person and exchange new numbers (they themselves were all using brand-new burner phones each day)—but it had to be done. Sebastian and Frank still had no idea how Paul had gotten ahold of the number for Sebastian’s previous smartphone, which made Sebastian wonder if he had a mole in his organization. If he did, it was one of four people: Frank, Ron, Maya, or Gabriella.

Fresh from the shower, he grabbed a new burner, and was working it from its blister pack when one of yesterday’s burners rang. He walked over to the bureau, where he had set them up. Maya Dawson was calling.

As usual, Maya skipped the pleasantries and got right to the point. She spoke cryptically, afraid that Paul might be listening in. “I need to see you. I have something to show you.”

Sebastian knew what this something was. “Come to the house.”

“No. You need to see it. In person.”

Maya was asking him to come to their new Celebrity Center. She sounded nervous—or was that a tinge of excitement he detected?

“Okay,” Sebastian said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Since the attempt on his life, both he and Frank had operated on the assumption that Paul, Guidry, or a group of people had eyes on them at all times, hoping he and Frank would continue business as usual and lead Paul and his crew to the key places of their operations—the treatment centers and blood farms. For that reason, neither Frank nor Sebastian had visited the Celebrity Center. Fortunately, a plan had been put in place months ago, in the event he or Frank had to travel to any of his key buildings without being followed.

When Sebastian left his home, he drove to the Sherman Oaks Galleria and parked on the top floor of the private garage, where he traded his Jaguar for a Toyota Camry with tinted windows. All the substitute cars had tinted windows dark enough to prevent his face from being seen.

Sebastian drove and parked at two more locations. His last car, a Honda Civic, was the one he used to drive to the Celebrity Center. He was making his final approach to Santa Monica Boulevard, in West Hollywood, when one of his burners rang—the one labeled “Frank.”