Chapter 38 - The Edge of the Quarry
The quarry was a jagged black crater cut into the Pennsylvania limestone, surrounded by rusted conveyor belts and flooded extraction pits.
Rain drummed mercilessly against the metal hood of Marcus's cruiser as we idled at the rim of the pit. Two hundred yards ahead, parked under the halogen glare of an industrial floodlight, sat two black Cadillac Escalades.
Four men stood outside in long raincoats, their silhouettes tall, motionless, and predatory.
"Lauren, this is suicide," Marcus whispered, checking the magazine of his Glock 19 one last time. "We call the FBI field office now. We turn state's evidence."
"If we call the feds, Sterling’s brother intercepts the transfer before the data hits the public record," I said calmly. "We do this my way. Stay in the car with the babies. Keep the engine running. If I give the signal, you ram the lead vehicle."
"You can't walk out there alone!"
"I have the only thing they want," I replied, opening the door and stepping into the storm.
The wind tore at my trench coat as I walked across the crushed gravel. The rain soaked my hair, plastering it to my forehead, but my back was straight. Every step felt deliberate, grounded, powered by the fierce, unyielding instinct of a mother protecting her young.
The middle figure stepped forward from the headlights.
It was Raymond Vance. My father's younger brother. The man who had disappeared from my life after my parents' funeral, leaving behind millions in corporate ruins and a hollow family name.
"Lauren," Raymond said, his voice smooth, carrying easily over the roar of the wind. "You look remarkably well for a woman who just had triplets. Scott always said you were fragile. I see he was mistaken."
"Cut the small talk, Uncle Raymond," I said, stopping ten paces away. "Where is Victor Sterling?"
A back door of the lead Escalade clicked open.
An older man with silver hair, an impeccably tailored wool coat, and an ivory-handled cane stepped into the mud. His face was weathered, elegant, and chillingly devoid of humanity.
Victor Sterling.
"Mrs. Hayes," Sterling said, leaning on his cane. "You have caused a remarkable amount of inconvenience for a woman whose husband is currently curled into a ball on a concrete floor in Philadelphia."
"I don't care about Scott," I said, holding up a single black flash drive between my thumb and forefinger. "I care about my children. And I care about the sixty million dollars you tried to extort from me."
Sterling smiled—a thin, cruel razor-slit of an expression. "Then hand over the master drive, sign the Zurich waiver, and take your children. You have my word as a gentleman."
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"Your word isn't worth the mud on my boots, Victor," I said. "And that's why I didn't come here to negotiate."
***
