Chapter 6 - The Encirclement
My signature was firm, bold, and clear across the bottom of the federal prosecution petition: Evelyn Rose Sterling, Legal Guardian of Leo David Sterling.
The moment the ink dried, Marcus snapped the paper into his leather briefcase, locked the dual combination latches with a sharp, heavy click, and slid the case under his heavy coat.
"We move now," Marcus said, grabbing his keys from the wooden hook beside the door. "My truck is parked in the lower barn behind the cottage. It’s hidden from the aerial trail cameras Julian installed along the main ridge."
"What about Arthur?" I asked, hesitation catching in my chest. "He looked like he wanted to stop Julian last night. He tried to protect us at breakfast."
Marcus paused at the doorway, a dark, complex shadow passing over his face. "Arthur is a broken old man, Evelyn. He spent twenty years choosing his pride and his criminal son over his moral conscience. He might feel guilty today, but when the pressure mounts, Arthur will always protect the Sterling name above everything else. You cannot trust him."
We hurried out the back door of the cottage, staying low beneath the shadow of a stacked cord of firewood. The cold mountain wind had picked up, howling through the tall pines and whipping snow dust across the open yard.
The lower barn was a stone-built structure half-buried in the hillside. Marcus pushed open the heavy wooden sliding door, revealing his old green pickup truck, its bed loaded with firewood logs and iron chains.
"Get in the cabin," Marcus instructed softly, ushering Leo and me into the passenger side of the bench seat. "Keep your heads down below the dashboard until we clear the timber gate."
The engine roared to life with a loud, mechanical rumble that echoed off the stone walls of the barn. Marcus threw the truck into reverse, backed out into the snowy alleyway behind the barn, and shifted into four-wheel drive, plunging down a narrow, unpaved logging trail that cut through the valley toward the main highway.
For five minutes, the only sound was the engine straining against the steep incline and the snow slushing beneath the heavy tires. I sat huddled on the floorboards, holding Leo tight against my ribs, breathing in the scent of aged leather and motor oil.
"Are we close to the highway?" I whispered up to Marcus.
"Two miles," Marcus replied, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Once we hit Route 9, we’re out of their jurisdiction. The state troopers have a roadblock set up three miles north of—"
Marcus cut his sentence short. His foot hit the brake pedal hard.
The pickup truck skidded across the icy gravel, coming to a violent stop just yards from a massive fallen oak tree that completely blocked the narrow mountain pass.
"Dammit," Marcus growled, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. "This wasn't wind. The trunk was sawed through."
Before he could reverse the truck, the heavy rumble of a high-horsepower engine echoed from the trail behind us.
A sleek black SUV tore around the bend, throwing mud and slush into the air, and slammed to a halt diagonally across the trail, completely blocking our rear escape route.
The driver’s side door of the SUV swung open.
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Julian stepped out into the falling snow, clad in his dark wool overcoat. In his right hand, held casually down by his side, was a sleek, black snub-nosed revolver. Behind the SUV, two armed estate security guards stepped out into the cold, their eyes cold and unblinking.
"End of the line, Marcus," Julian’s voice carried clearly through the cold air, smooth, arrogant, and devoid of any remaining pretense. "I must admit, sneaking onto the regional bus was a clever touch. But this is my mountain. You should have remembered that twenty years ago."
