Chapter 4 - The Highway of Ghosts
The black Bentley roared onto the M6 motorway like a land-bound missile, cutting through the blinding deluge of the storm.
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was bone-chilling. Alexander had changed into a spare, dark tailored suit from the Bentley's emergency trunk wardrobe. He sat in the rear, his laptop open on his lap, his fingers flying across the encrypted terminal.
Beside him on the leather seat sat the tan puppy.
Alexander had refused to leave the dog behind at the clinic. The puppy had dug its claws into his jacket when he tried to step away, refusing to let him out of its sight. Dr. Lin had cleared the tan dog as healthy, merely malnourished, and Alexander had gladly carried him back to the car.
"Sir, traffic report shows a major jackknifed lorry near Junction 14," Lionel called out from behind the wheel. "The motorway is completely blocked. ETA to London is now four hours. We won't make the six o'clock meeting."
Alexander’s eyes remained fixed on his screen. "Take the back roads through the Staffordshire countryside. Drive through the storm, Lionel."
"Sir, those roads are flooded and narrow—"
"Do it."
As the Bentley swung off the highway onto a dark, tree-lined secondary road, Alexander called his chief security officer, Marcus Vance—no relation to the traitor Julian.
"Marcus," Alexander commanded softly. "Are you in position outside the Mayfair headquarters?"
"Yes, Boss," Marcus's deep, gravelly voice rasped through the speaker. "Julian has brought in his own private security team. Eight guys in tactical suits. They’ve locked down the executive floor. He's framing it as a 'precaution' due to your supposed financial crimes."
"He thinks I'm stranded in Manchester," Alexander said, his voice dropping into a register that made even the tan puppy look up attentively. "He thinks I'm broken."
"The board members are already arriving, sir," Marcus warned. "Julian has promised them all massive bonuses if they vote to strip your voting shares tonight."
"Let them gather," Alexander instructed. "Do not engage them yet. Let Julian feel the crown on his head for a few more minutes. When I walk into that room, I want every traitor exposed in the light."
Suddenly, the Bentley lurk-swerved violently!
SCREECH!
The heavy luxury car skidded across the slick, mud-covered asphalt, its tires fighting for traction as Lionel slammed on the brakes!
Alexander held the tan puppy tightly against his chest as the car spun ninety degrees, coming to a halt inches away from a massive fallen oak tree that blocked the narrow country road!
"What happened?!" Alexander demanded.
Before Lionel could answer, two high-powered LED spotlights blinded the Bentley from the treeline ahead!
Through the heavy rain, two black SUVs pulled out from the mud, blocking the road from behind, boxing the Bentley into a tight, dark trap.
Four men dressed in dark raincoats and holding iron bars and silenced handguns stepped out from the trees, approaching the driver’s side window.
"Sir!" Lionel gasped, reaching beneath his seat for his defensive baton. "It's an ambush!"
Alexander didn't flinch. He looked at the leader of the men approaching his car—a scarred enforcer he recognized instantly. It was a mercenary named Keller, a man who worked exclusively for Julian Vance’s dirty off-the-books operations.
Julian wasn't just trying to steal Alexander's company. He was making sure Alexander never arrived in London alive.
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Alexander looked down at the tan puppy resting on his lap. The dog raised its head, its dark amber eyes fixed on the approaching gunmen, a low, guttural growl beginning to build deep inside its small chest.
"Sit quiet, little one," Alexander whispered, his voice calm, ice-cold, and devoid of fear. "Watch how a king cleans his house."
