Chapter 10 - The Interstate Drop
The interstate highway stretching north out of Charlotte was grey and wet from an early morning drizzle, throwing watery reflections of overhead streetlights against my windshield. I kept both hands gripped firmly on the steering wheel of my delivery van, my eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the flashing GPS navigation screen on the dashboard.
The address led to a deserted industrial park tucked behind a row of abandoned warehouses near the riverfront. It was the kind of place where freight companies dumped obsolete inventory and local gangs ran late-night vehicle swaps out of sight of traffic cameras.
Arthur wanted to call the feds, but we both knew how fast bureaucracy moved. If Maya’s brother had realized the flash drive was in police custody, he wouldn't wait for a warrant to retaliate against the loose ends—and the easiest loose end to reach was the delivery driver whose face he had seen in the kitchen.
I pulled the van to a stop beside a rusted shipping container, cutting the headlights. The rain drummed a dull, rhythmic tattoo against the metal roof of the vehicle.
I reached down to the passenger seat, picking up the heavy manila envelope Arthur had given me—not the real ledger, but a decoy stuffed with blank sheets of printer paper designed to look like confidential files.
The crunch of gravel echoed from behind my van.
I turned my head. A dark sedan had pulled up silently right behind me, blocking my only exit route down the narrow alleyway between the containers. The driver's side door clicked open, and a tall, heavy-set man stepped out into the drizzle, wearing a dark waterproof hoodie pulled low over his forehead.
He didn't pull a gun immediately, but his right hand remained shoved deep inside his front pouch, gripping something heavy and metallic.
"You took your sweet time, delivery boy," the man called out, his voice harsh and grating as he walked slowly toward my driver’s side window.
I rolled the window down two inches, keeping my face half-shadowed by the interior dash lights. "Traffic on the bypass was backed up. You got the cash?"
"I got something better than cash," the man sneered, stopping three feet from my door. He pulled his hand out of his pouch, revealing a heavy brass padlock on a chain—and in his other hand, a glowing burner phone displaying a live video feed of a quiet suburban street corner. "You see that house on the screen? That’s your mother’s apartment building on Maple Street. One wrong move, and my partner kicks her front door in before you can even spell delivery."
A cold spike of pure, blinding rage hit my chest. My mother. They had tracked me down to my personal life before I even realized the game had escalated beyond the corporate estate.
"You shouldn't have brought family into this," I whispered, resting my hand right beside the heavy aluminum flashlight clipped to the driver’s side door pocket.
May you like
The man laughed, stepping closer and raising his burner phone. "Welcome to the real delivery business, kid. Now hand over the—"
Before he could finish the sentence, the screech of tires tore through the industrial park as two black SUVs came roaring around the corner of the warehouse, their high-beam headlights instantly blinding the alley in a searing wall of white light.
