Chapter 4 - THE MAYBACH IN THE ALLEY
The rear kitchen corridor smelled of grease trap cleaner and cardboard boxes.
Richard led the way, nodding curtly to a startled fry cook who was stacking crates of frozen hash browns. Before the cook could ask questions, Richard handed him a hundred-dollar bill. "Private exit, chief. Thanks."
The metal fire door opened into a narrow, damp alley flanked by brick walls and towering trash dumpsters. The rain was coming down in heavy, cold sheets now, clattering against the metal lids.
Waiting at the curb was a long, obsidian-black Maybach, its engine idling silently, exhaust curling into the chilly November air.
A driver in a gray uniform immediately stepped out with a massive black umbrella, popping it open above Richard, Sarah, and Emma.
"Mr. Vance," the driver said calmly. "Traffic is backed up on Fifth, but Lexington is clear."
"Get us to the townhouse in Brooklyn, Marcus," Richard instructed, holding the rear door open himself. "And keep an eye on the side mirrors. We may have company."
Sarah bundled Emma into the leather-trimmed interior of the vehicle. The cabin was warm, smelling of fine leather and clean wood trim, insulated so thoroughly that the roar of Manhattan traffic instantly vanished into a soft, dull hum.
Emma gasped softly as her small shoes sank into the thick carpet floor mats. She sat on the edge of the plush leather seat, clutching her rabbit, staring in awe at the small glowing screens embedded in the headrests.
Sarah sat beside her, every muscle in her body locked tight. She kept her eyes glued to the rear window as the car pulled smoothy out of the alley and merged into the gray, rain-slicked stream of traffic.
Through the rain-streaked glass, Sarah saw Victor Vance standing on the corner of Fifth Avenue, his phone pressed to his ear, scanning the street with sharp, furious eyes.
The Maybach glided past him, completely unremarked.
Richard slid into the jump seat opposite them, pulling a crystal bottle of mineral water from the built-in mini-fridge and handing it to Sarah, along with a small container of fresh fruit tarts his driver had picked up earlier from a bakery.
"Eat," Richard said simply. "You look like you're about to pass out."
Sarah looked at the water, then at the pastries. Her stomach gave a painful, audible twist. She opened the bottle, handed it to Emma first, then took a small tart and broke off a piece for her daughter.
Emma ate with ravenous speed, strawberry jam smudging her cheek. Sarah ate slowly, forcing herself to chew, her body fighting the sudden rush of nourishment after forty-eight hours of near-total fasting.
"Thank you," Sarah said quietly, her defense mechanisms slowly lowering, if only by an inch.
"Don't thank me yet," Richard said, pulling out a tablet computer. "Julian Sterling isn't going to give up. He knows you're in the city now. By tonight, every private investigator on the East Coast will be looking for a woman matching your description."
"He doesn't just want me back," Sarah said, her voice turning cold as stone. "He wants what I took."
Richard looked up from his screen. "The tax ledgers?"
Sarah reached down, touching the cracked vinyl shoulder bag sitting at her feet. "It's not just tax ledgers. It's six years of shell-company records, foreign account transfers, and the real maintenance logs for the cargo ship Sterling Sovereign—the vessel that sank in the North Sea three years ago."
Richard’s eyes widened slightly. "The Sovereign? The ship that lost twelve crew members? The official investigation ruled it an act of God—a rogue wave."
"It wasn't a rogue wave," Sarah revealed, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "Julian knew the hull had structural stress fractures. He insured the vessel for eighty million dollars, forced the captain to sail into a Category 4 winter storm, and let it sink to claim the insurance payout to cover his gambling debts in Macau."
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Richard sat in complete, stunned silence.
The rain beat against the roof of the Maybach as the car swept onto the Manhattan Bridge, the gray skyline of the city disappearing into the mist behind them.
