Chapter 25 - The Red Car Waiting at Every Corner

The highway wound violently through the jagged cliffs of the Blackwood Ridge. The speedometer of the old pickup crept past eighty miles per hour, the frame vibrating violently against the pavement.
Behind them, the lead black SUV surged forward, slamming hard into the pickup’s rear bumper. Mason screamed as the truck fishtailed, tires shrieking against the wet asphalt.
"Daniel!" Emily shrieked, bracing her body over Mason like a human shield.
"Keep his head down!" Daniel roared.
He tapped the brakes deliberately, letting the SUV ride up within two feet of their tailgate, then cranked the steering wheel hard right toward the runaway truck ramp—a massive, steep incline of loose red gravel designed to stop runaway eighteen-wheelers.
The pickup’s tires dug into the deep gravel with a deafening roar of crushed stone, slowing their momentum instantly. The SUV, anticipating Daniel to turn left, shot straight past them at ninety miles per hour. The driver overcorrected, lost traction on the slick shoulder, and slammed sideways into the concrete guardrail, sending a shower of sparks into the afternoon sky before flipping onto its roof.
Daniel shifted into four-wheel drive, tires churning through the red gravel, and swung the truck back down onto the highway.
"One down," Daniel breathed, adrenaline flooding his veins.
"Daniel, look ahead," Emily whispered, her voice dead with absolute dread.
Parked across the two-lane bridge half a mile ahead was a single, pristine vintage cherry-red sedan—the exact make and model of the car Emily had driven off the bridge three years ago.
Standing in front of the vehicle, leaning casually against the hood in a tailored Italian suit, was a man Daniel recognized instantly.
It was Judge Harold Vance—Arthur’s elder brother, the federal judge who had overseen Emily’s probate hearing and signed the court order granting Vanessa temporary guardianship over Mason.
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In Harold’s right hand was a satellite phone. In his left hand was a remote detonator.
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