Chapter 2 - THE MAN BEHIND THE WHEEL
The heat inside the dark sedan hit me like a wall.
It smelled of clove tobacco and leather.
My hands were still trembling against my knees.
The passenger window hummed as it slid closed.
The cold was cut off in an instant.
Outside, the freezing wind tore at the shoreline trees.
Inside, the silence was deafening.
I looked at the driver.
He wore a dark charcoal wool coat.
His hands rested on the steering wheel at ten and two.
His knuckles were scarred and thick.
He had salt-and-pepper hair cut short along his jaw.
He didn't look like an Uber driver.
He didn't look like someone who drove for a living at all.
"You're freezing, Emma," he said softly.
My breath caught in my throat.
My hand dropped toward the door handle.
"How do you know my name?"
He didn't turn his head.
He shifted the sedan into drive.
The tires crunched against the icy gravel of the shoulder.
"Lock," he said.
The doors clicked shut with a heavy, magnetic thud.
The door handle beneath my palm went completely rigid.
Child locks.
Panic flared behind my ribs like gasoline.
"Let me out!" I yelled, pulling hard on the handle.
"Pulling on that won't help," he replied calmly.
The car accelerated smoothly onto the empty highway.
The restaurant, Bellamy House, receded in the rearview mirror.
Its golden chandeliers blurred into a smear of yellow light against the snow.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
My voice cracked with cold and terror.
"My name is Julian Vance," he said.
The name echoed inside the cabin.
Vance.
I knew that name.
I had seen it on legal briefs in Adrian's private study.
I had heard Adrian whisper it over encrypted phone calls behind closed doors.
Julian Vance had been the city's chief federal prosecutor five years ago.
Then he vanished from public life.
People whispered that Adrian had ruined him.
People whispered that Adrian had buried his career in an unmarked grave.
"Adrian destroyed your family," I whispered.
Julian's jaw tightened slightly.
"Adrian thinks he did."
"Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere safe, Emma."
"Safe from who?"
"From him."
Julian reached over and adjusted the dashboard vents.
Warm air blew across my frozen fingers.
"Your husband doesn't protect you, child," Julian said.
"He keeps you in an iron cage."
"And tonight, he handed me the key."
I pulled my phone from my purse.
The screen lit up with three missed calls from Adrian.
Then a fourth call flashed across the display.
Adrian.
His name glowed in white against the dark glass.
Julian glanced at the phone.
He didn't reach for it.
He didn't try to knock it from my fingers.
"Answer him if you want," Julian said softly.
"Tell him where you are."
"Tell him you're on Interstate 90."
"Let him send his private army of killers to run us off the road."
I stared at the glowing screen.
My thumb hovered over the green accept button.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I remembered Adrian's face thirty minutes ago.
The cold indifference in his eyes.
“You wanted independence. Call a car.”
He had watched his wife stand in the freezing wind.
He had chosen his pride over my life.
I swiped the red button.
The screen went black.
"Smart girl," Julian murmured.
"I didn't do that for you," I spat.
"I know," Julian replied.
"You did it because you're finally waking up."
The sedan sped into the darkness of the western suburbs.
Streetlights gave way to empty stretches of black highway.
Snow began to fall heavier, swirling against the windshield in thick white sheets.
My phone chimed in my lap.
A single text message from Adrian:
Emma. Answer me. I'm at Bellamy House.
I stared at the text.
I didn't reply.
Ten minutes later, another message arrived:
I see the tire tracks. Who took you?
Julian turned off the highway onto a narrow, unplowed access road.
Pine trees closed in on both sides of the car.
Branches scratched against the dark paint like skeletal fingers.
Ahead stood a massive wrought-iron gate set into an ancient limestone wall.
No cameras.
No armed guards.
Just dark forest and stone.
The gate swung open automatically as the car approached.
Julian drove through.
The iron clanged shut behind us with a sound that felt final.
Like a cell door sliding into place.
We pulled up to a two-story cedar cabin buried deep in the woods.
A single yellow lamp burned on the front porch.
"Out," Julian said, clicking the unlock button on the console.
I stepped out into the freezing air.
The snow reached my ankles, soaking through my thin dress shoes.
Julian walked up the wooden porch steps.
He unlocked the heavy front door.
"Go inside, Emma. There is a fire."
I hesitated on the gravel.
"Why me, Julian?"
"If you want revenge on Adrian, take it from him directly."
"Why drag me into your war?"
Julian turned on the threshold.
His silhouette was dark against the warm yellow light of the cabin.
"Because you're not the hostage, Emma."
"You're the owner."
My brow furrowed.
"Owner of what?"
"The bakery you tried to buy," Julian said.
His voice was dead serious.
"The building Adrian blocked you from purchasing."
"Adrian didn't buy that building to keep you from working, Emma."
Julian stepped aside, motioning for me to enter.
"He bought it because beneath the basement of that bakery,"
"lies the physical evidence that will put Adrian Vale in federal prison for the rest of his life."
And from the shadows behind the cabin's stone fireplace, a woman stepped into the light.
A woman with auburn hair and green eyes identical to mine.
May you like
My mother.
The woman Adrian had told me was buried six years ago.
