Chapter 6 - The Road to the South
The drive south was not like the comfortable, quiet trip from Central Park.
We rode in a massive, armored SUV with blacked-out windows and three security guards wearing dark tactical gear. Another identical vehicle drove fifty yards ahead of us, and a third followed behind, forming a small, moving fortress on the Interstate.
Ethan sat beside me, his hand holding mine as he watched the gray highway fly by.
"Are we going to the castle in Virginia, Lily?" he asked.
"It’s not a castle, Ethan," I said. "It’s a farm. Maxwell said there are horses."
"I like horses," he said, his face brightening. "My mom used to take me to the farm in Kentucky before she... before she went to the sky."
Maxwell sat in the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the navigation screen. His phone was a constant buzz of incoming calls—his lawyers in New York, his logistics managers in Newark, and the federal investigators in Washington.
At 2:14 in the afternoon, near the state line between Delaware and Maryland, the lead vehicle’s radio crackled to life.
"Boss, we’ve got a situation," the driver’s voice said, tight with tension. "There’s a commercial transport truck jackknifed across both lanes near the toll plaza. Looks like a staged accident. No emergency vehicles on site yet."
"Reverse, now!" Maxwell ordered.
But before our driver could shift the gear, the rear vehicle radioed in.
"Two black SUVs have blocked the off-ramp behind us, sir! They’ve got spike strips. We are pinned."
The armored SUV screeched to a halt, the tires smoking on the asphalt. Through the dark glass, I saw four men in gray tactical gear step out of the jackknifed truck ahead. They were carrying heavy, black tools—not guns, but hydraulic cutters and sledgehammers.
"They aren't here to shoot," the security guard beside us said, his hand reaching for his sidearm. "They want the book. And they want the girl."
"Lock the doors!" Maxwell roared, turning around in his seat. His face was pale, his eyes wild with a protective rage I had never seen before. "Lily, Ethan, get under the seat! Now!"
I grabbed Ethan, dragging him down into the narrow footwell between the seats, covering his small body with my own. The heavy cashmere coat Maxwell had given me was wrapped around us, a small shield against the coming storm.
The first blow struck the side window with a deafening CRACK.
The armored glass did not shatter, but a massive web of white fractures spread across the pane.
"They’ve got hydraulic rams!" the driver yelled. "The frame won't hold more than three hits!"
Another explosion of sound shook the vehicle as the front windshield was struck.
Ethan was shaking, his breath coming in short, terrified gasps against my neck. "Lily... I'm scared."
"I've got you, Ethan," I whispered, my hand holding his head, my eyes fixed on the black leather ledger that sat in the glove compartment between the front seats.
Maxwell was fighting. He had reached through the partition, his large fist striking one of the men who had managed to break the driver’s side window. But there were too many of them. A heavy metal bar smashed through the rear window, and a hand reached in, searching for the door lock.
I didn't think about the danger. I didn't think about my own survival.
I reached up, my hand darting into the front cabin, my fingers closing around the cold leather of my mother’s ledger. I slid it under my sweater, tucking it against my ribs, right next to the silver chain with my mother's earring.
The rear door was ripped open with a screech of tearing metal.
A man in a gray mask reached in, his gloved hand grabbing my ankle.
"Got the girl!" he yelled.
"No!" Ethan screamed, his small hands grabbing my arm, his teeth bared like a wild animal's. "Let her go! Let her go!"
With a strength that seemed impossible for his small body, Ethan reached up and grabbed his heavy wooden crutch from the seat behind him. He swung it with both hands, the heavy rubber tip striking the man’s mask with a dull THWACK.
The man gasped, his grip on my ankle loosening just enough for me to kick my leg free.
At that second, the sound of sirens—real, loud, state police sirens—echoed from the highway behind us.
"Police! Leave the vehicles!" a voice shouted over a megaphone.
The men in gray masks didn't wait. They scrambled back toward the jackknifed truck, leaving the doors of our ruined SUV open to the cold, wet Maryland air.
Maxwell fell back into his seat, his face covered in cuts from the safety glass, his shirt stained with blood. He turned around, his eyes wild as he searched the back of the car.
"Lily! Ethan!"
I crawled out from under the seat, pulling Ethan with me. He was crying, but he was alive.
And as I sat up, I reached under my sweater and pulled out the black leather notebook, setting it on the seat between us.
It was completely undamaged.
May you like
Maxwell looked at the book, then at his son, and then at me. He let out a ragged, trembling laugh, his shoulders shaking as he pulled both of us into his arms.
"You're both going to be the death of me," he whispered into my hair.
