The Moment That
Changed Everything

SMYTHE SAT IN THE NEARLY EMPTY PARKING GARAGE OF THE FBI building. She unclenched her teeth and relaxed her balled fist. Still unnerved by her conversation with the FBI agent, she replayed the agent’s words again over and over again. “We don’t want to alarm you…”

She slowly shook her head. Have I fallen asleep? Especially to this? Am I so attached to what my future may bring that I am not living in this moment? Had I not quit my job, I wouldn’t be in this current predicament.

“Not helpful,” she muttered aloud.

For Smythe, it now seemed a lifetime ago that she had relocated to the valley. During a particularly nasty economic downturn throughout the country, the government agency Smythe worked for incrementally made cuts to its staff. As the agency’s Training and Development Manager, Smythe found herself laid off during the agency’s third pass at reducing its spending. Her new unemployment status, coupled with the illness of her father, contributed to her decision to pack her bags and leave the comfort of her golden state and head for the state of sagebrush and silver where her parents lived.

With her mouth turned down and her eyes squinting in concentration, she continued to review the past six years since arriving in the valley. She reminded herself she had felt out of alignment—a more profound sense of belonging to something else.

With an extensive training background, she quickly found work as a corporate trainer in the tech industry. Highly educated, respected in her field of work, and making decent money, people who knew her thought she lived an enviable life. She was an influencer to corporate executives and traveled extensively. Yet, over time, she found she was not as open-hearted, vulnerable, or creative as she once had been. Instead, her generous spirit shriveled as she watched colleagues and managers alike seemingly bathe in greed, pettiness, and fear.

Dissatisfied with her employer, she began to ask herself what she truly wanted in her life. What did it look like? What type of work did she want to engage in that she would find fulfilling?

She held the questions lightly in her heart and eventually found herself applying to a year-long dual speaking and coaching program with one of her long-time mentors, a man considered to be one of America’s best success coaches. After she was accepted into the program, she felt the shackles of heartache release, and she formulated a plan. She would combine her mentor’s teaching with her background in coaching and training to develop her own company to help others aim higher and obtain the outcomes they sought in any area of their lives.

Smythe lifted her eyes and spoke aloud. “Those questions set everything in motion. Everything. The resignation of my job, my new field of study…”

Since following her soul’s calling, she had returned to where she was. More thoughtful, generous, kind-hearted, and loving. Open heartedness had taken a front seat in her life, and she was at peace once again.

Yet, this murder mess… she thought, threatened to askew her homecoming.

Smythe glanced at her watch. It was much too late to visit the baker. His shop would be closed by the time she arrived. Instead, she chose to return home and study, perhaps find some nugget of information to spur her along.

What she found was a return to meditation. After settling onto her dining room chair, she opened her laptop. She watched a video that described the value of consistency in meditation, and thankfully, it offered several guided practices.

That day, and throughout her week, Smythe spent more time in meditation, a process she called here-now. She did not spend hours in meditation—who has time for that, she mused during her first foray—but found fifteen to thirty minutes was just enough time to ground her. She also discovered that when she peered too far into the future, she triggered anxiety. The process of meditation, however, counteracted those feelings. While the trial was never far from her thoughts, the elegant art of here-now allowed her to regain her sense of equanimity, making room for peace to quietly settle into the fabric of her days.

There were moments where concern threatened to upend her. It had been roughly two weeks since her meeting with the FBI. Since that raucous meeting, Smythe noticed when she was out and about a black SUV seemed to always drive in close proximity to her vehicle. It kept its distance, but it appeared to follow her wherever she went. On one occasion, she made a sudden left-hand turn and believed she lost the vehicle. Within minutes, however, the same SUV was two or three car lengths behind her.

One morning, Smythe sat in the baker’s shop, feeling a bit rattled that someone may be following her. She searched her memory and recalled her earlier conversation with the FBI agent. At that moment, she chose to assume the SUV’s driver was an agent assigned to protect her. The assumption, in a measured way, provided a certain level of comfort.

At least I’m safe.

The assumption bolstered her to move more freely about her community, and her fear, over time, abated. Funny thing about assumptions, though. Without the necessary confirming data, assumptions are often nothing more than the empty stories we tell ourselves.

*
*     *

The following morning, a morning like any other, Smythe awoke, made her bed, walked to the gym, and ran eight miles. After showering, she decided to complete a few errands prior to delving into her studies, choosing to complete them at a locals’ favorite shopping area on Birch Avenue.

The Avenue, as it was aptly nicknamed, boasted several shops, including organic grocers, kitschy bookstores, outdoor cafes, clothing stores, and home décor outlets, providing the community with an eclectic shopping experience. Today, Smythe found it easy to check off her shopping list and lose herself for a few hours. She walked along a sidewalk in the developing urban district, located on the outskirts of the city’s downtown area, which sat nestled among river birch and oak trees. Although not in bloom during the winter months, the abundance of birch trees provides the passerby a leafy green canopy during the warmer months of the summer, and a spectacular show of burnished yellow foliage in the fall. This morning, as she trotted along the winding walkways, she smiled at the emerging wildflowers as they sat basking in the warmth of the morning sun’s rays.

Inside her favorite organic grocer, she meandered through the aisles. Unable to choose between two distinctly different bottles of red wine, she sprung for both. She paused to chat with a couple of store employees she had come to befriend. Both offered food recommendations, which were enough to satisfy her palate for an entire week.

After storing her groceries in her car, she ambled toward a sports clothier to find a couple of replacement running tops. Always in search of a deal, she found three tees for the price of two. Satisfied with the purchase, she returned to her car. She checked the time—11:00 a.m. It was fairly quiet for a weekday, which suited her. She raised her head to the sun. It took the chill from the air and was bright enough to beckon her to throw caution to the wind.

Play hooky for a few more hours…

Yet, in the next breath, she felt a low-level sense of fear develop. Something felt different. She stopped and peered around The Avenue. She watched as sparrows flew overhead, landing a few feet from her car, pecking at the newly planted ferns along the walkway. Billowy clouds drifted overhead, and a couple passed her. Young love, she thought as they strode away, giggling while holding hands. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, yet the feeling persisted. She took in a deep breath and focused on a slow exhalation. Nothing shifted. Unable to shake a growing sense of dread, she nudged herself to return home.

Time to go. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to goof off.

Smythe entered her car, pulled out of her parking space, and drove to the stoplight. She paired her phone to her car’s audio system while she sat waiting in the left turn lane and began to listen to a podcast she had started earlier.

This’ll do.

Seated in the passenger seat of a black SUV idling behind Smythe, Artie surveyed the area. Dressed in black khakis and a short sleeve black T-shirt covered by a windbreaker, she and one of her team members had walked a distance behind Smythe while she shopped. Yet, now, sitting in her vehicle, her central focus concerned Smythe’s vulnerability, unnerved that Smythe took so many risks moving about the city alone.

Artie scanned the area slowly from left to right. Two-story stores flanked either side of the street. A few pedestrians walked the sidewalk, entering and exiting department stores. What few vehicles there were on the road moved easily down The Avenue. Still, her senses were on high alert. Without warning, her intuition was confirmed. A gray SUV accelerated at a high speed, approaching the intersection from the opposite direction. As the red light turned green, she watched in astonishment as Smythe proceeded through the intersection and into harm’s way.

“What the hell is she doing, Dennis?!” Artie yelled. “Swing around her! Get between her and that truck!”

This is going to hurt, Artie thought.

The driver of the gray SUV approached the intersection and aimed his vehicle toward Smythe’s car. The driver rolled his window down, allowing his passenger an unobstructed view. Raising a gun, she pointed it in Smythe’s direction.

Unaware of the danger, Smythe quickly glanced to her right and continued to make her turn. She swept her eyes forward without seeing the present danger and entered the intersection. Then it registered.

Oh shit! I…

She gripped her steering wheel and jerked it hard to the left. With her foot still on the gas pedal, as if in slow motion, she felt herself losing control of her car, feeling it now beginning to balance on only its left wheels. Her shoulders stiffened, and she held her breath, closed her eyes, and braced for impact. The internal sensor control system warned her to brake. When she did not respond, it took over. Her car—now upright—came to an abrupt halt, causing her to slam her head against the top of the steering wheel. She heard the sickening wail of screeching tires and the grinding thump of fender against fender… yet she felt no impact.

Smythe lifted her head and glanced around. She watched as a woman opened the door of a black SUV—an SUV which now sat angled a few feet from her own, its back passenger side pushed in.

How did I not see that vehicle?

“I’m checking on her now!” Artie said. She jumped out of her SUV, both concern and fury etched across her face as she ran to the driver’s side of Smythe’s car.

Smythe pulled over to the right lane of a cross street, parking her car parallel to a fire hydrant. She unlocked her door and opened it. Attempting to compose herself, she reached across her console for her messenger bag. She became vaguely aware of the sound of running footsteps, and they sounded as if they were approaching her car. Her hands began to tremble, and her body grew cold. Beneath her growing panic, a single thought crept into her consciousness.

“You’re safe!”

Smythe turned her body toward the stranger before gently placing her fingertips over her temple. “What? What happened? Where did you come from? Didn’t I have the right of way?”

Artie pointed ahead to an SUV that had long sped away from the intersection. “That car attempted to ram you. I cut him off, and they hit the backside of my vehicle instead.” She eyed Smythe.

Out and about with a bounty on her head! Is she crazy?

“Are you hurt? What’s your name?”

One too many questions. “Smythe. My-my name is Smythe.”

“Smythe, are you hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have my driver’s license as identification.”

“I don’t need your ID. Remain in your car for a minute.”

“What? No, I’m ok,” Smythe mumbled. She struggled to maintain focus. Her head began to throb, and she fought nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Did this really just happen?

“Don’t tell me no!” Artie retorted. “Stay. In. The. Car!”

“Who are you?” Smythe barked. She winced in pain at the sound and tone of her voice.

“Now the gloves are off,” she grumbled. Don’t tell me no? Who does she think she is?

Without a word, Artie quickly and methodically inspected the exterior of Smythe’s car. She glowered from the SUV to the surrounding intersection. She bent low, inspecting the undercarriage of the car. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a small handheld telescopic mirror, and continued her inspection. Reaching her hand under the rear bumper, she found what she was searching for.

She pried the object loose and eyed the small, flat piece of metal that lay in the palm of her hand. Her eyes narrowed and she clenched her jaw, quietly growling. She allowed the object to tumble from her fingertips, crushing it beneath her black boot.

Smythe watched as vehicles moved around the intersection.

Who the hell is she? What is she looking for? Whoever tried to hit me is long gone…