Chapter 7 - The Chase on the Bypass
“Hold on to Lily,” Vance said, his voice flat and professional. He reached down and flicked a concealed toggle under the dashboard. A hidden siren warbled once, and the sedan surged forward, the engine roaring as it dropped two gears.
Lily gasped, burying her face into Clara’s ribs. “Mom!”
“Keep your head down, baby. Put your face in my lap. Don’t look up until I tell you,” Clara whispered, pressing the girl down and shielding her body with her own.
In the rearview mirror, the Range Rover accelerated instantly, closing the gap with brutal horsepower. It didn't flash headlights or try to pass. It held the center lane, bearing down on them like a locomotive.
“Call for backup, Vance!” Clara shouted over the engine noise.
“I did,” Vance said, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “Nearest armed response vehicle is twelve miles out on the M2. We aren't going to make the station.”
“Where are you taking us?”
“Old dock road. Narrower lanes. The Range Rover won’t have room to PIT us.”
The sedan swerved hard to the left, tires screeching across the white lines as Vance threw the car into an industrial exit ramp. The Range Rover followed without hesitation, clipping the plastic lane markers and sending orange debris flying into the weeds.
Arthur’s words echoed in Clara’s mind with sickening clarity: Ask Vance whose name was on the shipping manifest.
“Vance,” Clara said, her voice dropping into an icy register despite the violent swaying of the chassis. “Why did Arthur ask whose name was on the manifest?”
Vance didn't answer. He threw the wheel right, navigating a tight chicane between two abandoned brick warehouses.
“Vance!” Clara yelled, leaning forward, catching his eye in the mirror. “Whose name is on that manifest?”
Vance’s jaw worked, but he kept his eyes on the road. “Arthur didn't register the company under his name. Or Julianna’s.”
The car violently jarred as the Range Rover slammed into their rear bumper. Metal groaned. The rear window spider-webbed into a thousand opaque cracks.
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“He registered the logistics company under Lily’s name,” Vance shouted over the roar of the impact. “The Morans don't think Arthur owes them, Clara. On paper, your ten-year-old daughter is the sole director of an LLC holding four million pounds of missing heroin!”
Another brutal impact threw the sedan sideways toward the concrete loading dock ahead.
