Chapter 14 - The Trail of Burned Rubber
My father had died in what the state declared a drunk-driving crash when I was twelve years old.
I had spent fifteen years believing he was a disgraced cop who lost his way.
Now, staring at his handwriting inside Sterling’s ledger, the bitter taste of betrayal washed over me.
My father wasn't Sterling's partner; he was the undercover investigator who had built the original federal case.
He had been murdered before he could deliver the evidence to Washington.
And Conrad Vance, his estranged cousin, had stolen the files to blackmail the Sterling empire for decades.
Julianne and Clara were collateral damage in a thirty-year war of corporate blood and deceit.
I shoved the ledger into my combat vest, zipped it tight, and sprinted back to my car.
Fresh tire tracks from heavy military-grade mud tires cut deep ruts through the pine needles leading north.
They were headed toward the abandoned Blackwood Iron Foundry near the state line.
I threw my car into gear, gravel pelting the underside of the chassis as I gunned the engine.
The winding mountain road carved through dense, ancient pines that blocked out the morning sun.
Around the fourth hairpin turn, a black SUV suddenly materialized in my rearview mirror.
It had no license plates, tinted black windows, and a heavy bull-bar mounted on the grille.
Before I could react, it slammed violently into my rear bumper.
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The impact jerked my neck forward, my seatbelt locking tight across my chest.
They didn't want to capture me; they were sent to run me off the cliffside.
