Mr. Hudson Would Like to Get Acquainted with You
The Following Day.
The late-morning sun over San Francisco poured down in golden sheets, glinting off the sleek bodies of four black 2025 Cadillac Escalade SUVs gliding through the city streets. Their engines purred low and steady, their windows blacked out like midnight. They moved as a single organism— tight formation, precise spacing— cutting through traffic with the kind of authority that didn’t need sirens to command space.
In the second SUV of the formation, Eric sat comfortably in the plush leather back seat. The city blurred by in the tinted glass beside him, but his focus was locked on the tablet in his lap. His posture was upright, one ankle resting neatly on the opposite knee, the clean lines of his black suit falling perfectly across his frame. In his ears, a soft but steady voice streamed through his earpods— a local news report about downtown business closures.
Eric’s eyes, calm and razor-sharp, tracked the scrolling headlines as if nothing else in the world existed—until a small notification blinked onto the corner of his screen.
MR. HUDSON: Have you delivered my message to her?
His fingers moved quickly, tapping back a reply:
ERIC: Not there yet, sir. Should be there in 5.
The response from Joseph came almost instantly, cutting through the news audio like a blade.
MR. HUDSON: Should be there already. What caused the delay?
Eric straightened slightly, thumb moving fast.
ERIC: Sorry for the delay, sir. We had to take a longer route. The roads were bad.
Another immediate reply.
MR. HUDSON: Keep me posted.
Eric’s lips tightened in a small, private smile— the kind that never reached his eyes. He typed back:
ERIC: We sure do, sir.
He readjusted in his seat, sliding the tablet a little lower, as the skyline of downtown San Francisco began to part ahead, revealing a cluster of low, warm-colored buildings. The distinctive spire of Sanctuary Spring Academy peeked through, a beacon in the middle of the neighborhood.
Less than a minute later, the convoy slowed to a halt at the school’s front gate.
The barrier arm was down. A man with blond hair, probably mid-fifties, stood at the post in a neatly pressed blue security uniform. He was leaning against the booth, engaged in conversation with the driver of the first SUV in the formation.
From his vantage in the second SUV, Eric could see the exchange clearly. His eyes narrowed slightly. Without a word, he pushed open the heavy door and stepped out.
The warmth of the sun hit his face immediately, but he didn’t squint. His polished black shoes crunched against the gravel as he approached the gate.
“Morning, sir,” Eric said, his voice even and polite, but with an underlying firmness. “What’s the issue?”
The school guard turned his head slowly, meeting Eric’s gaze without blinking. “I don’t know who you are. Can you please identify yourself?” His voice carried that hardened note of a man who’d spent decades not taking anyone’s word at face value.
Eric’s lips curved in a faint, professional smile. He reached into his jacket, producing a leather holder and flipping it open to reveal his identification. “Eric Vaughn. Chief of Security for Joseph Hudson— alumni of this school. He made a substantial donation here a few days ago.”
Recognition flickered across the guard’s face. “I remember.”
“Good,” Eric replied, still holding his smile. “We still have business with the school.”
The man searched Eric’s eyes for a long moment— testing for bluff, for cracks— but found none. Slowly, he reached over and tapped the control button. The gate arm began to rise with a mechanical hum.
“You can go in,” the guard said at last.
“Thank you.” Eric gave a courteous nod and turned, the sunlight flashing briefly on the edges of his ID as he slipped it back into his jacket.
By the time he closed the SUV door, the convoy was already rolling forward, the tires gliding silently over the smooth driveway that led into Sanctuary Spring Academy’s grounds. The landscaped car park unfolded before them— beds of tulips and lavender lining the paths, their colors vivid under the sun.
The vehicles halted in a clean row.
Eric stepped out again, flanked immediately by two men— Secret Service agents in identical black suits that seemed poured onto their frames. Their movements were economical, purposeful, and silent as they followed him toward the school’s glass double doors.
The doors swung open, and cool, conditioned air washed over them.
From the far end of the hallway, a woman was approaching quickly— heels clicking on the polished tile. Principal Emily Jones. Her brown hair was swept into a neat chignon, and her smile stretched wide as she closed the distance.
“Hello, Mr. Vaughn,” she said warmly, clasping her hands together as she stopped in front of them. “I didn’t know you were coming. What brings you here? Does Mr. Hudson have another surprise for us?” Her tone was almost giddy, the thought lighting up her eyes.
Eric returned her smile, though his was more measured. “As good as that sounds— maybe soon. But today, we’re here to deliver a message to one of your staff. She goes by the name Ms. Susan Stone.”
“You’re here for Susan?” Principal Jones’s voice dropped slightly, almost to a whisper. Surprise flickered across her features, followed by curiosity.
“Yes,” Eric said, nodding once. “If you direct us to her, we’ll be out of here as quickly as we came.”
The principal hesitated for only a heartbeat before saying, “Follow me.”
They moved down the hallway together, the muted thud of their footsteps swallowed by the building’s stillness.
In under a minute, they stopped outside a classroom door. Jones turned to them. “Wait here— I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Okay,” Eric said simply, taking a step back while his two colleagues stood like statues behind him.
From inside the classroom came the muffled sound of children murmuring, the soft rustle of paper, a faint laugh from somewhere in the back.
When the door opened again, Jones emerged, and with her came Susan Stone.
Susan’s eyes darted to the three men in black, her hands instinctively fidgeting at her sides. She wore a modest blouse tucked into a flowing skirt, her hair pulled back loosely.
“Morning, Miss Susan,” Eric began, his voice professional but softer now. “Sorry for pulling you out of class so suddenly.”
He reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope, holding it out to her. She accepted it with hesitant fingers.
“My boss, Mr. Hudson, would like to get acquainted with you. That’s an invitation to an exclusive red-carpet conference in Sacramento. He’d like you to attend with him.”
Susan blinked rapidly, looking down at the golden-embossed card. “What… why-y?” she stammered, her voice trembling just enough to betray her confusion— and something else. Her cheeks flushed pink as she kept her eyes on the invitation.