Chapter 11 - The Face in the Trees
The rain began to turn into a stinging sleet as we scrambled up a steep rocky embankment, our boots slipping on the pine needles and wet shale. Every breath tasted like freezing iron in my throat, and my ribs throbbed with a dull, sickening ache that reminded me I wasn't fully healed from the night in the ER.
“Keep moving, Emma,” Sarah urged, her voice tight with strain as she clutched the heavy briefcase under one arm and kept her firearm ready in the other. “If we reach the old logging road on the other side of this ridge, we can make it to the highway.”
Suddenly, a beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight cut through the falling sleet fifty yards ahead of us, blocking our path.
“End of the line, ladies,” a smooth, chillingly familiar voice called out from behind the blinding light.
We froze. A figure stepped out from the shadows of a massive hemlock tree. It wasn't one of the masked thugs from the cabin. It was Richard Vance, my father’s high-priced corporate attorney, wearing an expensive wool overcoat that looked entirely out of place in the muddy wilderness.
He wasn't holding a gun. Instead, he held a sleek, expensive smartphone in one hand, smiling with calm, predatory amusement.
“You really are your father’s daughter, Emma,” Vance said, taking slow, deliberate steps toward us through the brush. “Tenacious, paranoid, and utterly exhausting. Do you honestly think Daniel didn't have backups for his backups? The moment federal agents raided the corporate archives, our firm activated protocol omega.”
“You’re corrupt to the core, Vance,” Sarah snapped, keeping her weapon pointed directly at his chest. “You helped cover up Clara Sterling’s murder and laundered millions through offshore accounts.”
Vance let out a soft, cultured laugh, unbothered by the barrel of the gun. “My dear woman, I am a corporate lawyer. My job is to protect assets. And right now, the greatest asset to be protected is the reputation of Mercer Logistics—which means those briefcases you are holding need to be handed over right now.”
“And if we refuse?” I asked, stepping out from behind Sarah, my voice steady despite the freezing wind.
Vance’s smile didn't reach his eyes. He tapped his smartphone screen twice. From the surrounding dark forest, three more figures stepped out of the tree line, their weapons raised and pointed directly at us.
“Then you’ll die in a tragic hunting accident out here in the wilderness,” Vance said smoothly. “A sad, unfortunate end for a troubled teenage girl who couldn't handle the stress of her family's downfall.”
My hand slipped slowly down to the pocket of my coat, where my phone was set on emergency speed-dial to Mara Jenkins—a call I had initiated just before we left the cabin.
As Vance reached out his hand to take the briefcase, a distant wail of police sirens echoed sharply through the mountain valley, bouncing off the canyon walls.
Vance’s expression finally flickered with genuine panic. “Where did those sirens come from?”
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“From the highway,” I smiled coldly, holding up my phone to show the active call timer glowing on the screen. “And they've been listening the entire time.”
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