Chapter 4: The Hunted and the Hunters
“Drop the flashlight, Marcus!” a voice roared through a loudspeaker.
My heart hammered against my ribs as doors flew open. Men in tactical gear poured out of the vehicles, weapons raised.
Out of the lead SUV stepped Ryan, wearing a crisp suit despite the late hour, his face twisted into a maniacal grin. Beside him was Derek Vance, looking completely unbothered, swirling a toothpick between his teeth.
“Did you really think it would be that easy, little brother?” Derek mocked, his voice echoing loudly in the enclosed space. “You think you can just check a DOJ email portal without my people flagging it? You’ve always been so painfully naive, Marcus.”
Marcus didn’t panic. He slowly raised his hands, keeping his eyes on Derek. “You’re trespassing on federal jurisdiction, Derek. You bring weapons here, you’re looking at treason charges.”
“Nobody is going to know what happens in this mill tonight,” Ryan interjected, his voice dripping with venom as he searched the upper catwalks. “Emily! Come out, come out, wherever you are! You really thought setting my house on fire would stop me? You owe me, Emily. You owe Derek. And you’re coming home tonight to pay your debt!”
I pulled back deeper into the shadows on the catwalk, my heart rate spiking. They had tracked Marcus’s digital footprint.
“She doesn’t have to give you anything, Ryan,” Marcus said loudly, drawing their attention away from the rafters. “The moment she made contact, automated servers uploaded duplicates of those drives to the Federal Grand Jury.”
It was a lie—a brilliant, desperate bluff by Marcus to buy time.
Derek’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second. He looked at Ryan. “Is that possible?”
“He’s bluffing!” Ryan spat, pulling a revolver from inside his jacket. “Find her! Check the catwalks! Kill Marcus if he moves!”
Four armed men began moving toward the stairs leading up to my position.
I knew if they reached the catwalk, I was dead. I had to act immediately.
I aimed my handgun down at the heavy industrial light hanging from the ceiling directly above the SUVs. I squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The shot rang out like thunder. The bullet shattered the high-voltage light fixture, sparking violently before sending a cascade of white-hot electrical sparks down onto the open fuel tank of one of the tactical vehicles—a tank I had noticed leaking gasoline moments earlier.
An explosive CRACK ripped through the mill as the fuel ignited, sending a wall of fire surging through the center of the floor.
Panic erupted below. The armed men scattered as thick smoke filled the air.
“Marcus! Move!” I screamed, firing two more shots toward the men guarding the exit.
Marcus didn’t hesitate. He tackled the nearest guard, disarming him in a swift, practiced motion, and sprinted toward the cover of a massive pile of timber.
I turned and ran along the catwalk toward the rear emergency exit of the mill.
“She’s up there!” Ryan screamed, his voice unhinged through the smoke and flames. “Get her! Don’t let her leave with those drives!”
I sprinted down the rusted spiral staircase at the back of the building. Bootsteps echoed loudly behind me—one of Derek’s men was hot on my tail.
As I hit the ground floor, a hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around violently. I came face-to-face with a massive guard, his gun raised to my head.
Without thinking, driven by months of built-up rage and survival instinct, I drove the heel of my boot into his knee. He grunted, buckling slightly, and I slammed the heavy leather satchel directly into his face. He stumbled backward, dropping his gun. I didn’t wait for him to recover; I bolted through the metal side door into the cold night air.
I burst out into the dense forest behind the mill, the night swallowing me whole.
Rain had begun to fall again, turning the forest floor into a slippery slide of mud and leaves. Behind me, I could hear shouts and flashlights cutting through the trees.
“Emily!” Ryan’s voice called out from the darkness, sounding terrifyingly close. “You can’t run forever! You have nowhere to go! Your parents don’t want you! The world doesn’t want you! You belong to us!”
I ducked behind an ancient oak tree, pressing my back against the rough bark, trying to control my ragged breathing. Blood trickled down my temple from a scrap I’d sustained on the catwalk, but I felt no pain.
Through the trees, I saw Marcus running toward my position, holding the weapon he had seized from the guard.
“Emily!” he whispered harshly. “Over here!”
I stepped out from behind the tree, moving toward him.
Suddenly, a gunshot tore through the night air.
Marcus stumbled, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as a bullet grazed his shoulder. He fell against a tree trunk, firing three rapid shots back into the darkness.
Out of the shadows emerged Derek Vance, holding a silenced pistol, flanked by Ryan.
“End of the line, little brother,” Derek said, his voice cold, devoid of any familial warmth. “You should have stayed in your office.”
Ryan stepped past Derek, his eyes fixed on me, a twisted, triumphant smile spreading across his face. He held his revolver pointed directly at my chest.
“Give me the bag, Emily,” Ryan ordered, extending his hand. “Give me the bag, and maybe I’ll convince Derek to let you live in a cellar somewhere instead of burying you in these woods.”
I looked at Ryan. I looked at Derek. I looked at Marcus, who was bleeding on the ground, still holding his weapon, waiting for a opening.
I slowly slid the satchel off my shoulder. I held it out in front of me.
“You want the ledger, Ryan?” I asked, my voice calm, icy, and absolute.
“Yes,” Ryan sneered, taking a step closer. “Hand it over.”
“Come take it,” I said.
And with a swift, fluid motion, I kicked the heavy satchel straight off the edge of the steep ravine directly behind me, sending it plunging down into the roaring, swollen river eighty feet below.
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