The target has no significant friends, though he is very rich. Only those who use the BDSM website the target frequents know him at all, and none of them know his real name. They wouldn’t recognize his face, as the target is careful never to post selfies online. He keeps himself to himself, happy in his own company, though he shares his large apartment with his elderly mother, whom he is devoted to. The target probably enjoys the fact that the tenants in the block of flats that he owns don’t even realize that he’s the landlord and that he lives above them. They don’t know that he had the penthouse flat soundproofed thoroughly when it was being refurbished, and that he hardly ever has to leave the building. The target orders his entertainment in, easy as pizza, every Friday. His mother never hears a single thing. The person following him knows this, because he has been taking careful note. The person following has been watching from the opposite flat, the empty one in the social housing block that just happens to overlook it, that he has managed to keep empty for his own purposes by means of a little light hacking of the council housing portal. The person following has been waiting for the right time to strike, enjoying the wait, the game of it. And now, finally, he’s decided the persona has been perfected. There’s nothing more he can gain from allowing the target to continue. Tonight’s the night. It couldn’t be better.

He lets the target enter his building, and walks on for a few minutes before he uses his phone to log on to the BDSM website where he has set up a profile he is certain will appeal. In moments, they have a date.

He waits another thirty minutes before he presses the buzzer and is let in to the block. He walks up the stairs, knocks on the door, watches it open. The two men exchange a matching slow smile. The target moves aside to let him in, and he takes in the large living space, the tasteful decor, the high ceilings. Nice place, he thinks. I think I’ll be very happy here.