Chapter 13 - The Midnight Cargo
The sound of gunfire faded behind him, swallowed by the roaring wind and the rhythmic drone of a distant freight train. Mark ran without stopping, twigs slashing his face, his wet clothes clinging to his skin like lead weights. The revolver felt heavy in his pocket, a stark reminder that this nightmare had moved far beyond boardrooms and wills.
He emerged onto the gravel siding of the freight depot. An industrial train hauling coal and lumber was slowly accelerating along the outbound track, its diesel engines chugging in heavy, metallic rhythms.
Behind him, along the tree line, headlights swept the gravel. The pursuit hadn't ended; Chloe’s mercenaries had anticipated his escape route.
Mark bolted across the open tracks, lunging forward with every ounce of remaining energy. He grabbed the cold iron ladder of a passing flatbed car, hauling himself up with agonizing effort just as bullets pinged loudly off the steel container beside his head.
He collapsed against the wooden timber stacks, breathing in cold soot and diesel fumes. As the train gathered speed, carving through the rain into the darkness of the valley, Mark sat back against the lumber.
He looked at the flash drive in his palm. He had the truth. But running was no longer enough. Chloe was currently at the estate, preparing the paperwork that would finalize her absolute ownership of everything his family had ever built. If he ran to the capital, it would take days for warrants to be issued. By then, the money would vanish overseas, and the estate would be stripped bare.
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He pulled the revolver from his pocket, checking the cylinder. Six rounds.
He wasn't running to the capital. He was going back.
