Chapter 3 - The Cold Pursuit
The heavy rain began to fall as Frederick’s black armored SUV tore down Interstate 90, its reinforced tires carving through sheets of water.
Inside the spacious leather cabin, the atmosphere was a tense command center. Multiple screens glowed with satellite imagery, street-level camera feeds, and encrypted data streams.
Kylie sat in the middle executive seat, wrapped in a plush cashmere blanket provided by Frederick’s driver. She had a cup of warm apple juice in her hands and was intently watching Marco, who was furiously typing on a secure laptop.
"She’s quiet," Marco muttered to Frederick, leaning across the center console. "Most kids would be screaming their lungs out by now."
"She’s spent her whole life watching her mother survive," Frederick observed quietly, his eyes fixed on the lead screen showing the highway route ahead. "When you grow up around hardship, you learn how to be quiet when things get scary."
He looked at Kylie. She was clutching her small backpack against her chest, her lips moving silently as she counted.
One, two, three, four...
She was counting to 103 again. Trying to build a bridge of numbers back to her mother.
"Boss, I’ve got the van," Marco announced, bringing up a high-definition thermal feed on the central monitor. "It pulled off at Exit 42—an abandoned industrial park near the old rail yards. Satellite shows four vehicles parked inside the central warehouse. High-frequency radio chatter suggests a tactical team on site."
"Who ordered the hit?" Frederick asked, his fingers tapping against his knee.
"We ran the van’s license plate through our backdoor database," Marco said, his expression darkening. "It’s registered to a holding company controlled by Thomas Sterling."
Frederick’s eyes narrowed into slits of deadly calculation.
Thomas Sterling. The corrupt real estate mogul and politician who ran the city's port authority with an iron fist. Sterling was a man who hid his monstrous corporate greed behind tailored silk suits and philanthropic galas. He was also a fierce rival of Frederick’s organization, constantly trying to seize control of the eastern shipping lanes.
"Why would Sterling care about an unpublished writer from a diner?" Frederick mused aloud.
"We ran Elena Miller’s background," Marco pulled up a file on the second screen. "Six months ago, she was working as an executive secretary for Sterling's chief financial officer before she was abruptly fired. She filed a wrongful termination suit, but it was tossed out of court last month."
Frederick’s mind assembled the pieces instantly. "She didn't just write a romance novel. She stumbled onto Sterling's offshore ledgers. She put the evidence into her manuscript or took it with her."
"And Sterling realized it right before she boarded a flight to San Francisco to meet a publisher," Marco concluded. "If that manuscript hits a national publisher, Sterling goes to federal prison for the rest of his life."
"He sent a hit squad to an airport to silence a mother," Frederick said, his voice dropping into a register so dark that even Marco felt a shiver run down his spine. "He thought she was helpless. He thought no one was watching."
Frederick turned to look at Kylie. He unbuckled his seatbelt, moved across the cabin, and sat down in the seat directly across from her.
"Kylie," he said softly.
She looked up, her brown eyes bright in the dim glow of the monitors.
"We found where your mommy is," Frederick told her. "She’s inside a big building up ahead. I’m going to go in there, and I’m going to bring her out to you. But I need you to stay in this car with my driver, Daniel. Daniel is very strong, and this car is built like a tank. Nothing can hurt you in here."
Kylie looked at him for a long, heavy moment. She reached into her backpack, pulled out her small, crumpled square of granola bar wrapper, and pressed it into Frederick’s palm.
"Give this to her," Kylie whispered. "So she knows I waited for her."
May you like
Frederick looked at the tiny piece of plastic in his hand, then closed his fist around it securely. He placed his hand over his heart, sliding the wrapper into his vest pocket.
"I will," Frederick promised. "I'll be right back."
