Chapter 3 - The Escape
I peeked through the blinds of Tyler’s bedroom window.
Two men in dark suits stepped out of the SUV. They didn't look like police. They moved with a silent, predatory grace.
Harrison’s fixers.
He must have discovered the missing trust fund money, or worse, noticed someone had breached his servers.
I had exactly two minutes before they kicked the front door in.
I grabbed a duffel bag from Tyler's closet. I threw in a change of clothes, my passport, the black card, and most importantly, Tyler’s hard drive.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
It wasn't a polite ring. It was a long, continuous press.
“Mrs. Vance?” a deep, gravelly voice called out. “We know you’re in there. Mr. Vance asked us to check on you.”
I backed away from the window.
I slipped out of Tyler's room and made my way to the back staircase, the one that led to the basement.
My house was an old Victorian, a property I fought tooth and nail to keep in the divorce. Harrison hated it because it was drafty.
I loved it because it had an old coal chute that led directly to the alley behind the detached garage.
CRACK.
The sound of the front door splintering echoed through the house.
They weren't waiting anymore.
I sprinted down the basement stairs, ignoring the darkness, my fingers gripping the strap of the duffel bag so hard my knuckles turned white.
I heard heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors above me.
"Check upstairs. I'll take the ground floor," one of the men barked.
I reached the coal chute, unlatched the heavy iron door, and squeezed myself through.
The rough brick scraped against my shoulders, but adrenaline masked the pain.
I tumbled out into the overgrown weeds of the back alley, gasping for air.
I didn't stop to brush the dirt off my jeans. I ran.
I ran through three backyards, hopped a low chain-link fence, and emerged onto a busy commercial street.
I flagged down a passing taxi.
"Where to, lady?" the driver asked, eyeing my disheveled appearance in the rearview mirror.
"Union Station," I panted. "And please, hurry."
I had $3.8 million, a hard drive full of damning evidence, and a son in enemy territory.
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I wasn't just a heartbroken mother anymore. I was a mother at war.
And Harrison Vance was about to learn that hell hath no fury like a woman whose child has been threatened.
