Chapter 7 - THE HIGH-SPEED PURSUIT
The midday sun beat down harshly on the crowded city streets as Marcus’s hospital van swerved through traffic, chasing the silver Mercedes weaving aggressively between sedans and delivery trucks.
“He’s heading toward the marina!” Alexander shouted, gripping the dashboard with white knuckles, his eyes wild with adrenaline and rage. “There’s an old private airstrip and dock there that the hospital group used to own before it was decommissioned.”
Roger’s Mercedes ran a red light, narrowly clipping the bumper of a city bus and sending pedestrians scattering onto the sidewalk.
“He’s trying to reach a private yacht,” Marcus muttered, his jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel, threading the bulky van through a narrow gap between two semi-trucks. 📱 “Hold on, this is going to get rough!”
The van fishtailed, its tires screeching in protest as Marcus took a sharp ninety-degree turn onto the cracked asphalt of the coastal access road.
Ahead of us, the rusted chain-link gates of the old marina hung wide open. The silver Mercedes had already plowed through a wooden barricade, kicking up a thick plume of gray dust as it raced toward the edge of the concrete pier where a sleek, white motor yacht bobbed lazily against the dark blue water of the Pacific.
Roger slammed on his brakes, the Mercedes spinning in a wide semicircle before coming to a violent halt near the gangplank of the yacht.
The driver’s door flew open, and Roger stumbled out, clutching a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and pulling a small, black semi-automatic pistol from his jacket with the other.
Marcus slammed the van into park, and before the vehicle had even fully stopped, Alexander flung his door open and hit the pavement.
“Roger! It’s over!” Alexander shouted, striding forward across the open concrete pier, completely ignoring the firearm in his former best friend's hand.
Roger turned, panting heavily, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes wide and unhinged. He pointed the pistol straight at Alexander’s chest.
“Stay back, Alexander!” Roger screamed, his voice cracking with panic. “I swear to God, I’ll put a bullet through your heart right here! You ruined everything! If you had just let the boys pass quietly, we could have restructured the board without a hitch!”
Alexander stopped ten feet away. He didn't look afraid. He looked like a man who had already lost everything and had nothing left to fear.
“You killed my wife,” Alexander said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “You poisoned my sons. You were my brother, Roger.”
“We were partners!” Roger snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger. “And now you’re going to watch me walk away!”
He began backing slowly toward the yacht’s gangplank, keeping the gun trained on Alexander’s chest.
I slipped quietly out of the passenger side of the van, using its bulk as cover, and crept along the ground toward a stack of heavy wooden shipping crates sitting near the edge of the pier.
Roger took another step backward, his boot heel hovering near the edge of the wooden gangplank—
“Now, Marcus!” I yelled.
Marcus didn't wait. He kicked a loose steel pipe across the concrete. It clattered loudly against the pavement right beside Roger.
Startled by the sudden noise, Roger flinched, his eyes darting sideways for a fraction of a second.
That was all the opening Alexander needed.
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With a roar of pure, unadulterated fury, Alexander lunged forward like a freight train, crashing directly into Roger’s chest and tackling him hard to the concrete pier.
The pistol flew from Roger’s hand, spinning through the air before splashing harmlessly into the dark ocean below.
