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Pay attention to the woman walking down Riverside Avenue at 11:47 p.m. on October 14th. Her name is Lauren Fitzpatrick. She's twenty-six years old, a graphic designer, and she's walking home from her evening shift at a downtown advertising firm. The brown leather messenger bag on her shoulder contains her laptop, her sketchbook, and the half-eaten sandwich she didn't have time to finish during her break. Lauren lives three blocks away. She's made this walk hundreds of times. Now, pay attention to the silver sedan that slows as it approaches her. The driver's window is down. A man leans out slightly, calling to her. Security footage would later show Lauren stopping, hesitating, then stepping closer to the vehicle. The conversation lasts forty-three seconds. She shakes her head. She steps back. The man says something else. Lauren walks away. The sedan follows her for half a block, then turns down a side street and disappears from view. Lauren Fitzpatrick would make it home safely that night. She would lock her door, text her boyfriend that she'd arrived, and fall asleep watching Netflix. But three blocks away, in a deteriorating duplex at 847 Riverside Avenue, someone else wasn't so fortunate. For six weeks, neighbors had been complaining about the noise. Muffled thuds. Scratching sounds. Something that sounded like crying late at night. The landlord had filed multiple violations. The tenant, a man named Raymond Kellerman, had ignored every notice. On the morning of October 15th, code enforcement officers arrived with a police escort to conduct a mandatory inspection. Kellerman wasn't home. What they found in the basement—behind a steel door that had been welded shut and then concealed behind a false wall—would reveal that the noise complaints were not about a tenant dispute or rodent problem. They were distress signals. And Lauren Fitzpatrick had just encountered the man responsible.