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Summary
Sure, Michael Afton hadn't been the original target, but he had made a perfect host… No living relatives that would bother to check on him or be surprised to get no response if they did. No neighbors that appeared to know him any deeper than in shallow passing, nothing more than a friendly smile and nod required to get through an interaction with them. A mailbox of letters no more personal than "dear current occupant" or "to whom it may concern." A lonely, insignificant man in his empty childhood home, where he could have rotted away seemingly without anyone blinking an eye. Michael Afton was a puppet so blandly and perfectly suitable, his hostile operators hadn't looked deep enough to find the fatal flaw that could bring their carefully curated plan crashing down around them:
Michael Afton's boyfriend, who was actively clawing up a large enough rock from the front garden to throw through the window after "Michael" had ignored a few days' worth of his calls.