Chapter 7 - The Sprint Through the Trees
The screech of tires against asphalt echoed from the front of the property as the black SUV slammed to a halt outside our gates. Heavy car doors slammed shut in rapid succession. Footsteps pounded against the paved driveway—crisp, synchronized, and far too professional to belong to ordinary visitors. My father’s private security detail had arrived.
“Dad! They’re coming around the side!” Chloe screamed, burying her face into my neck as I carried her.
“Keep moving! Don’t look back!” I yelled to Meredith, who was matching my pace stride for stride, her designer heels abandoned by the back porch in favor of bare feet on the damp grass.
We dove into the dense line of oak and pine trees bordering our backyard just as two dark-suited figures rounded the corner of the house. Branches whipped against our faces, and the damp earth squelched beneath our shoes, but the adrenaline coursing through our veins kept us flying forward. We scrambled down the steep embankment of the municipal park’s utility easement, hidden from the street by a thick wall of summer foliage.
“Over here! Through the old drainage culvert!” I pointed toward a concrete tunnel that cut underneath the main boulevard, leading directly toward the downtown municipal district where the police station stood.
We ducked into the shadowed concrete tube, our footsteps echoing loudly in the enclosed space. Emerging on the other side, we were just three blocks away from the brick-and-glass facade of the central police precinct. The bright morning sun glinted off the precinct’s front doors, looking like a beacon of absolute safety.
“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” I panted, setting Chloe down so she could run beside us hand-in-hand.
As we burst out of the park and onto the public sidewalk of 4th Street, a sleek black sedan pulled curb-side with a sharp hiss of brakes. The passenger door flew open before the car had even fully stopped.
Step out of the vehicle? No—step out of our path. Standing by the open door was a man in a tailored gray suit with silver hair combed immaculately back.
My father. Richard Vance.
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He didn’t look angry. He looked disappointed, like a school principal about to discipline a misbehaving student.
“Harrison, Meredith, stop this foolishness right now,” Richard said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the pavement. Several pedestrians turned to look, drawn by his commanding presence. “You’re making a scene. Put the child in the car and let’s go home to discuss this like a civilized family.”
