Today, someone was in his seat. A woman in a sharp business suit, staring intently at her phone.
Slightly annoyed, Mark took the seat across from her. He opened his newspaper, a barrier between himself and the world. The train pulled out of the station.
At the second stop, two men in identical black coats boarded. They walked straight to Mark’s car. Mark didn’t look up, but he felt the shift in the air pressure, the sudden cessation of casual chatter.
One man whispered something to the other. They were looking for someone. Mark felt a nervous sweat begin to prickle at his collar. He should have been in his seat.
The men moved past him and stopped directly in front of the woman in the sharp suit.
"Ms. Albright," one said, his voice flat. "Your firm requires your immediate attention."
The woman looked up, perfectly calm. "I already resigned, Agent. My time is my own."
The situation escalated fast. A brief struggle. Mark realized with a jolt that he had just become a witness to corporate espionage, or worse.
He glanced down at the seat where he was supposed to be sitting, now empty. He looked at the woman being forcibly escorted from the train at the next stop, fighting every step of the way.
He folded his newspaper, his armor suddenly feeling paper-thin. His routine hadn't protected him; a single minute and a stolen seat had saved him from being an innocent bystander caught in a very dangerous crossfire. From tomorrow on, he resolved, he would take the 7:16.
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