Chapter 8 - THE ACCIDENT
Two days later, the first warning came.
David was driving back from the city. Rain fell hard, blurring the road. He slowed down, keeping distance from the car ahead.
As he approached a narrow bridge, his brakes failed.
The pedal went soft beneath his foot. It sank all the way to the floor.
David’s heart slammed against his chest. He pumped the pedal frantically. Nothing happened. The car accelerated toward the bridge railing.
He downshifted hard. Pulled the emergency brake. The car swerved violently, skidding across the wet pavement. He spun the wheel, fighting for control. The car missed the railing by inches, crashed through a guardrail, and came to a halt tilted precariously over the edge.
David sat breathing hard, rain hammering against the roof. He was alive. By inches.
He climbed out shakily. He walked to the front of the car and looked beneath.
The brake line had been cut. Cleanly. Deliberately.
David stood in the rain, staring at the damage. Someone had tampered with his car while it sat in the mansion’s garage. Someone with access. Someone trusted.
Edward. Calloway. Arthur.
One of them.
He called Margaret. She answered on the first ring.
“David?”
“Someone cut my brakes,” he said. “The line was severed.”
Silence. Then Margaret’s voice, tight and calm.
“Come home. Immediately. And do not drive alone again.”
When David arrived at the mansion, Margaret and Sophie were waiting in the foyer. Margaret inspected the damage herself. She ran a finger along the clean cut in the rubber line.
“Professional,” she said quietly. “Clean. Fast. Almost impossible to detect beforehand.”
She looked toward the security office.
“Arthur inspected this car yesterday,” she said. “He signed the log. Said everything was in perfect order.”
David felt cold.
“Arthur?”
“Or Arthur is covering for someone else,” Margaret said. “Either way… someone inside this house is trying to kill us.”
Margaret stood up.
“We cannot stay here. Not tonight. We pack what we need. We leave through the rear gate. And we go somewhere no one knows.”
“Where?” Sophie asked.
Margaret looked at her.
“The safe house. The one only your father and I know about.”
David nodded. A small cottage deep in the woods, purchased years ago as a retreat. Unlisted. Unconnected to the family name.
“Pack light,” Margaret said. “Meet me at the garden entrance in ten minutes. And tell no one. Not the staff. Not anyone.”
Ten minutes later, they stood in the rain with small bags. Margaret locked the door behind her. She looked back at the dark windows of the mansion.
“They know we are leaving,” she said quietly. “Which means they may already be watching.”
They hurried through the garden to the waiting car. David drove. Margaret sat in the passenger seat. Sophie sat quietly in the back.
May you like
As they pulled away from the house, David glanced in the rearview mirror.
A dark car pulled out from behind the gatehouse. And followed.
