Chapter 34 - The Voice in the Dashboard
The rain turned into a torrential downpour as Marcus’s unmarked cruiser pulled away from the cottage.
In the back seat, the three car seats were strapped side-by-side. Maya and Liam were asleep, lulled by the hum of the engine, while Noah stared wide-eyed at the water streaming across the glass. I sat wedged against the door, holding the diaper bag between my feet, my fingers wrapped tight around the plastic handle of the formula canister.
"The safehouse is an old state police cabin off Route 100," Marcus said, watching the rearview mirror intently. "No internet, no landline, off-grid generator. You'll be secure there until the grand jury convenes on Tuesday."
"And what happens on Tuesday?" I asked, watching the highway signs blur past in the storm.
"On Tuesday, the U.S. Attorney files a supervening indictment against Apex Holdings. That creates a court-ordered stay of execution on all corporate debts. The thirty million Sterling is trying to squeeze out of you becomes legally uncollectible."
It sounded perfect. It sounded clean, professional, and entirely within the law.
Too clean.
"Marcus," I said softly, "how did you know the voice on my phone demanded thirty million dollars?"
The cruiser’s wiper blades slapped rhythmically against the windshield: *thump-thump, thump-thump.*
The speedometer hovered at sixty-five. Marcus’s hands on the steering wheel didn't flinch, but his knuckles went stark white.
"You told me when I came into the nursery," he said without looking back.
"No," I replied, my pulse pounding against my ribs like a war drum. "I told you men tapped on the nursery window. I told you Scott was an arrogant monster. I never mentioned the amount."
A terrible silence filled the car, suffocating the sound of the rain.
In the center console, Marcus’s private cell phone lit up on the dashboard mount. The caller ID displayed no number, only an alphanumeric tag: *VA-EXEC-01*.
Marcus didn't reach for it. He let it ring.
"Marcus," I whispered, reaching blindly into the diaper bag for the heavy brass key I had pulled from the nursery floorboard. "Who do you work for?"
Marcus took a slow, agonizing breath and looked at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, swimming with regret.
"Lauren... five years ago, my daughter needed a bone marrow transplant. The insurance company denied the experimental protocol. A private medical trust paid three hundred and eighty thousand dollars directly to Johns Hopkins."
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. "Victor Sterling."
"I don't want to hurt you," Marcus choked out, his voice cracking. "I swear to God on my daughter’s life, I don't want those babies harmed. But if I don't deliver Scott's master drives by midnight... the trust pulls the maintenance medication that keeps my little girl alive."
May you like
He hit the central door locks. The mechanical deadbolts slammed shut with an echoing, inescapable snap.
***
