That morning, Nolan wandered through Boston’s financial district, his stomach growling, when he noticed the towering, glass-clad structure of the Whitmore Center. The building shimmered in the weak winter sun, and he recalled overhearing a rumor: executives often discarded expensive meals from the top floors, and the higher up the better. It was a risky plan, but hunger and curiosity pushed him forward. Perhaps today he would find food—and something more.
Slipping through a side entrance with the stealth of someone used to avoiding detection, Nolan moved like a shadow through the sterile corridors. Security cameras, guards, and electronic locks were obstacles he had trained his mind to bypass. Years of street survival had honed his observation skills, and every step was calculated, precise.