Chapter 9: The Race
The café where Benji took his video call had floor-to-ceiling windows.
I positioned myself across the street, coffee in hand, pretending to wait for someone. Perfect sightline to the table where Benji sat with his laptop, earbuds in, face animated.
He was gesturing enthusiastically—wide arm movements, nodding, laughing at something his screen couldn't see. Body language screaming interest. This wasn't a courtesy call. This was a negotiation.
The call lasted forty-three minutes.
When it ended, Benji sat back in his chair, staring at nothing for a long moment. Then he grabbed his phone and started typing. Fast, urgent.
I couldn't see the recipient, but I could guess. Beck. Probably some version of "we need to talk."
He looked relieved. Excited. Like someone who'd just seen an exit door they hadn't known existed.
One down.
The victory felt fragile. Benji was interested in LA, but interested wasn't committed. And Joe wasn't going to wait for Benji to make up his mind.
I found Joe four hours later.
He was following Benji.
Not closely—half a block back, blending with pedestrian traffic—but definitely following. The Detection roared cold the moment I spotted him. This wasn't casual surveillance anymore. Joe was evaluating.
Benji walked toward his office, phone pressed to his ear, completely oblivious to the predator tracking him. Joe matched his pace perfectly, never getting too close, never falling too far behind. At intersections, Joe would pause, check his own phone, let Benji gain distance before resuming.
Professional. Practiced.
How many times has he done this?
Benji entered the Artisan Elixirs building. Joe stopped across the street, made a note in his phone, checked the time. Then he walked a slow circuit around the block—mapping exits, evaluating sightlines, planning.
The cold in my Detection shifted. Not just focused anymore. Calculating.
Joe was preparing to make a move. Not today, maybe not tomorrow—but soon. The decision to eliminate the obstacle had been made. Only logistics remained.
I shadowed Joe for another hour as he completed his reconnaissance. Fire escapes, alley access, the schedule of the security guard in the lobby. Everything stored, everything planned.
When Joe finally left, heading back toward Mooney's, I stayed behind.
Time to push harder.
Benji emerged from his office at 5:30, later than usual. I "accidentally" intercepted him on the sidewalk.
"Hey! Benji, right? From the bar the other night?"
Recognition flickered across his face. "Fin! Yeah, man. Good timing—I was actually going to text you."
"How'd the call go?"
Benji's grin answered before his words. "Amazing. They want to fly me out next week. Full tour of their facilities, meet the team." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "They're talking serious numbers. Acquisition, not just distribution. Life-changing numbers."
"That's incredible." I meant it. Every word he said was another step away from Joe's crosshairs.
"There's just..." Benji's enthusiasm dimmed. "It would mean moving. LA. Starting over."
"And Beck."
He nodded. "We've been together off and on for two years. I can't just... disappear."
Yes you can. You absolutely can. Please just do it.
"What's keeping you?" I kept my voice neutral, curious.
"Guilt, I guess. She'd be blindsided. We were supposed to have dinner tonight—our anniversary." Benji laughed bitterly. "Great timing, right?"
I chose my words carefully. "Look, I'm a stranger. Not my place to give relationship advice. But—sometimes a clean break is the healthiest thing. For everyone. Dragging it out just makes it worse."
Benji was quiet for a moment.
"You really think so?"
"I think if you're already thinking about leaving, you've already decided. The only question is how much pain you add by waiting."
He stared at the sidewalk. I could see him wrestling with it—the guilt, the excitement, the desire to escape that he probably didn't fully understand.
"Maybe you're right." He pulled out his phone, stared at the screen. "Maybe I just need to rip the bandaid off."
"Better now than after you've led her on for another month."
Benji nodded slowly. Then he started typing—a text, short, probably asking Beck to meet.
"Thanks, Fin." He looked up, sincere. "I mean it. You've given me a lot to think about."
"Good luck. With everything."
He headed toward the subway. I watched him go, then crossed the street to buy a pretzel from a cart I'd passed earlier.
The salt burned my tongue—too hot, should have waited. I ate it anyway, standing on the corner, watching Benji's figure disappear into the station.
He was meeting Beck tonight. Telling her. Ending it.
If I'd calculated right, Benji would be on a plane to LA before Joe could act. The obstacle would remove itself. Joe would be frustrated, confused, maybe even thrown off his game.
And Beck would be heartbroken—but alive.
Small price.
The bar was the same one where Benji and I had first talked. He'd chosen familiar ground for an unfamiliar conversation.
I found a position outside—bench across the street, newspaper as prop, sightlines to the entrance. Beck arrived first, six minutes early, checking her reflection in her phone screen before going inside.
She looked nervous. Hopeful. Dressed up slightly, probably thinking this was about their anniversary.
Benji arrived twelve minutes later. His walk was different—hesitant, shoulders tight, the body language of someone about to do something difficult.
They met just inside the door. Beck hugged him. Benji returned it stiffly.
Through the window, I watched them take a table near the back. Beck ordered wine. Benji ordered something stronger.
The conversation started normally. Small talk, probably. But within minutes, Beck's expression began to change.
Confusion first. Then hurt. Then the careful blankness of someone trying not to cry in public.
Benji talked with his hands—explaining, justifying, apologizing. Beck sat motionless, wine untouched.
Then—movement.
Across the street. In the shadow of an awning.
Joe.
He watched the scene through the same window I was using. His face was unreadable at this distance, but the Detection screamed cold. He was seeing his obstacle walk away. His carefully laid plans crumbling.
Two men watching one woman's heart break. For opposite reasons.
I held my breath.
Inside, Beck stood abruptly. Grabbed her purse. Said something short and sharp. Walked toward the door without looking back.
Benji stayed at the table, head in his hands.
Beck burst out of the bar, phone already in her hand, walking fast in the direction of her apartment. Joe watched her go—longing, probably, masked as concern—but didn't follow.
His attention stayed on Benji.
Decide, I thought. See him as a problem that solved itself. Walk away.
Joe stood in the shadows for a full minute. Then he turned and walked the opposite direction.
The Detection faded with distance. Cold receding like a tide.
I exhaled.
Benji was still inside, probably finishing his drink, probably feeling like garbage. But he was alive. And in a week, he'd be in Los Angeles, three thousand miles away from Joe Goldberg's basement.
Beck was alone tonight. Heartbroken, confused, vulnerable.
But alive.
First domino down.
I stood, folded my newspaper, started walking toward my apartment. Tomorrow, I'd check on Benji—make sure the LA trip was still happening. Monitor Joe's reaction to losing his obstacle.
And maybe, finally, start thinking about how to approach Beck.
Because the game wasn't over. Joe had lost his first target, but that wouldn't stop him. The obsession was still burning. He'd find another way.
Unless I got to Beck first.
My feet carried me home through streets I was starting to know by heart. Two weeks in this body, this life, this mission. Already it felt longer.
The book Joe recommended sat on my nightstand when I walked in. The Count of Monte Cristo. Patience and transformation.
I picked it up, found my place, kept reading.
Understanding the monster meant understanding what fed it.
And tomorrow, the real work continued.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1