American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

Chapter 85 The Perverted Stalker?

Lynn looked up.

Victoria curled up on the sofa, her brows slightly relaxed, a naive smile on her lips that was completely out of character for "Dr. Vanderbilt".

"Mom—let's go deer hunting together—"

She murmured in her sleep, as if she had returned to her carefree childhood at the Long Island Manor before the family's decline.

Lynn looked at her quietly.

In this New York City filled with scheming, exchanges of interests, and life-or-death struggles, this woman, who always disguised herself with arrogance, now let down her guard, revealing a vulnerability never before seen.

Lynn put down her phone and stood up.

He walked to the sofa and his gaze lingered on that exquisite sleeping face for two seconds.

Then, he picked up a cashmere blanket that was draped over the side and gently covered Victoria with it, carefully concealing her breathtaking curves.

Goodnight, Victoria.

Lynn said softly, turned around and turned off the glaring crystal auxiliary light, leaving only a floor lamp emitting a warm yellow light.

Victoria's breathing was steady and long.

Under the warm yellow light, Lynn looked down and operated her phone.

1:17 AM.

He opened his encrypted chat with Cassie and typed four words: "IP tracking progress?"

Cassie replied instantly.

"I've handed the work over to a friend. Here's a temporary email address; it will automatically delete itself in 24 hours. I have to go to work tomorrow morning, so I'm going to sleep now. He'll send you the results directly."

A line of garbled characters representing a proton email address then popped up.

Lynn saved the address and deleted the chat history one by one.

Although Cassie can be a bit of a chatterbox at times, he never wastes time when it comes to serious business.

In their line of work, this quality is more valuable than any technology.

He switched to Sachi's channel.

"Location."

"Downstairs from you. Across the street at the three o'clock position, next to the fire hydrant."

Sachi's reply was equally concise: "I arrived forty minutes ago, and there are no issues so far."

Lynn stood up, walked to the window, pinched the edge of the velvet curtain with her fingers, and lifted it only a gap of no more than two centimeters.

The Upper East Side remains brightly lit even late at night.

The French restaurant across the street had just closed, and several women in evening gowns and high heels climbed into a stretch Lincoln.

Next to the fire hydrant, a figure wearing a dark hoodie leaned against the trunk of a sycamore tree, looking like a drunkard.

It's Sachi.

That hoodie was bought by Casey for $9.99 at a secondhand store. It had faded from washing and was now filthy and black.

In America, no one would give a second glance to a homeless person wearing a cheap hoodie.

The best disguise is to make yourself into something that others don't want to notice.

Lynn lowered the curtains and sat back down on the single sofa.

Now, all we can do is wait.

He glanced at Victoria, who was fast asleep on the sofa.

Under the cashmere blanket, she curled up in a defensive posture, knees pressed against her chest, hands crossed over her neck.

This is the most instinctive self-protection instinct of people who are under high pressure and insecurity for a long time, in an unconscious state.

Lynn looked away.

While waiting, he pulled up all the private messages sent by "User7749X" on Victoria's phone, took screenshots of each one, and arranged them in chronological order.

The first message was from three days ago.

A photo of her getting out of the car in the hospital parking lot, taken from a high vantage point across the street, about three or four stories high, with a telephoto lens, 200mm or more.

The second one, two days ago.

The photo shows the lobby of her apartment building. It was taken at 2:41 a.m., and the only things in the picture are the empty marble reception desk and an empty chair.

The accompanying text reads: "Your doorman goes to the back alley to smoke every day at 2:30, for about fifteen minutes."

The third point, yesterday.

Her profile as she stretches by the gym window. The angle is so unconventional that you can almost see the content on her phone screen.

The caption was just one word: "So beautiful."

Lynn narrowed his eyes.

On the surface, this is a typical modus operandi of a perverted stalker.

In the United States, more than three million people are stalked each year. Among cases involving public figures, 78% of stalkers exhibit characteristics of "intimacy paranoia."

These people firmly believe that there is some special emotional connection between themselves and their target.

User7749X's behavior perfectly matches this profile: spying, showing goodwill, and demonstrating control over the target's whereabouts.

However, some details are incorrect.

Lynn enlarged the three photos side by side.

In the parking lot photo, the light comes in from the left at a 45-degree angle, and the subject is positioned slightly to the right of the golden ratio point.

The one in the lobby is purely for information gathering; it has no aesthetic purpose whatsoever and is simply meant to prove, "I know your security vulnerabilities."

In the gym photo, the telephoto lens compressed the depth of field, blurring the foreground cleanly, while the focus was locked on Victoria's phone screen.

Three photos, three completely different shooting logics.

Fanatic fans wouldn't film like that.

Emergency room patients come in all sorts of ways, especially in places like the United States.

Therefore, emergency room doctors often receive psychology training, and Lynn has a certain understanding of their psychology.

They were either frantically pressing the shutter button, taking photos from every angle.

They either obsessively repeat the same angle because it is the most perfect way to gaze in their delusion.

But the people behind these three photos had a clear tactical purpose every time they pressed the shutter.

First proof: I know your commute route.

Second piece of evidence: I found a security weakness in your residence.

The third piece of evidence: I can monitor you at close range without being detected.

This is not stalking.

This is reconnaissance.

Just as Lynn was about to continue her analysis, a new message popped up in her email.

The sender was a meaningless string of numeric IDs, Cassie's hacker friend.

"The registered IP address redirects four times, landing at a node in Romania. Location data from a photo wasn't completely cleared, and the base station traces back to the vicinity of West 47th Street in Midtown Manhattan."

"The prepaid card was activated at a drugstore in Times Square, which is a blind spot in the surveillance system, so the face cannot be found."

「三张照片的上传间隔：6小时、6小时、5小时58分。同一台设备48小时内激活了三张预付卡，一张用于当前帐号，另外两张状态未知。」

"Online shopping records associated with the device: hard-shell protective case, tactical folding knife, cut-resistant gloves, portable walkie-talkie."

"This person has extremely strong counter-surveillance capabilities. Their equipment list is close to law enforcement or paramilitary level. It is not recommended to contact them alone."

Lynn stared at the screen.

Task-based check-in system, multiple prepaid cards, tactical knife, cut-resistant gloves.

He forwarded the message to Sachi: "The target's threat level has been raised. The other party may be armed and has counter-surveillance training."

Sachi immediately replied, "Received. I will adjust the deployment."

The second report immediately followed: "Target spotted at three o'clock: a dark gray Ford Taurus. It was turned off and parked across the street ten minutes ago. No one got out. The license plate is blocked by the car in front."