Chapter 11
509 Words
The city blurred past in streaks of wet neon. William drove fast, hands tight on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview every ten seconds.
Lisa sat in the back with Drew, the flash drive and birth certificate in her lap like a shield. Neither of them spoke.
The car slowed as they hit the side road leading to the Wilson estate. The main gates were in view.
Two black SUVs blocked the entrance, headlights off.
William killed the engine fifty meters back.
“They’re early,” he muttered. “I told them I’d be back by 3.”
Drew leaned forward. “You think they’ll let us through?”
“No,” William said. “But they won’t shoot with me in the car. Not yet.”
Lisa opened her door. “Then we don’t go through the gate.”
She pointed left, to the old maintenance path that ran along the east wall. Overgrown, half‑collapsed, but passable on foot.
William stared at her. “That path hasn’t been used in years. It leads to the old greenhouse.
It’s locked.”
“I have keys,” Lisa said. She pulled a small brass key from her necklace. “Your mom forgot I still had them.”
Drew nodded. “We go on foot. You keep the car here. If this goes bad, you drive.”
William looked between them, then killed the lights. “I’m coming with you.”
Lisa’s jaw tightened. “You’ll get us killed.”
“I’ll get you in,” he said quietly. “After that, you decide if I deserve to come any further.”
They left the car and slipped into the trees.
The men by the gate never saw them.
Mrs. Wilson slammed the phone down.
“Gone,” she said to the empty study. “All three of them.”
On the monitor, the GPS ping for Lisa’s old phone blinked once, then went dead.
She turned to the man standing in the doorway. Tall, scarred, wearing a suit that cost more than most cars.
“Mr. Vance,” she said. “They’re heading for the estate.”
Vance smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Your son is predictable.”
Mrs. Wilson’s face hardened. “He’s my son. Watch your tone.”
Vance bowed slightly. “My apologies. But you understand, Mrs. Wilson. Mr. Wilson’s orders were clear. If the girl leaves, she doesn’t return alone.”
“And if she has the drive?”
“Then we take it. And her.”
Mrs. Wilson walked to the window, looking out at the dark grounds.
“You have fifteen minutes,” she said. “Before I call the police. Officially.”
Vance chuckled. “Brave. Stupid, but brave.”
She didn’t turn around. “My son is with her. If anything happens to him, your employer will answer to me. And I keep better records than Richard ever did.”
Vance went quiet.
“I understood,” he said finally. “We’ll make it look clean.”
- Writer
