Abigail
Lights? Check. Flowers? Check. Music? A hundred times check.
Security guards dressed like they were preparing for a terrorist attack? That part was unexpected. The hall where Finnegan's birthday was held was alive when we arrived, but the security surrounding it was almost military-level. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Three blocks before we even reached the venue, the road had been blocked off. Police officers checked every car.
Finnegan had arranged multiple checkpoints, metal detectors, bag scans, ID verification — it was insane.
I recognized some men from his personal security team too. Police cars were parked in the compound. Even the guests had to go through rigorous checks.
"Sir, ma'am." A young officer waved us through the final checkpoint, his eyes flicking to Finnegan's face. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Wolfe."
