Chapter 14 - Shadow Pursuit
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Despite the sweeping arrests, the danger hadn't entirely vanished.
With Richard Sterling facing imminent federal indictment and Jax in police custody, the remaining elements of the Sterling organization were acting like wounded, unpredictable animals.
Late that evening, Declan and I left the Midtown law firm building to deliver the newly decrypted digital ledgers directly to the United States Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York downtown.
The night air was crisp and dark. As Declan’s private town car pulled out of the underground garage onto Lexington Avenue, I noticed a dark tinted SUV pull out from the curb two blocks behind us.
“Declan,” I said softly, looking through the rear window.
“We’re being followed.”
Declan immediately checked his side mirror. The black SUV maintained a steady distance, matching our speed as we turned onto 34th Street.
“Driver,” Declan instructed calmly but firmly.
“Do not take the route toward the federal courthouse. Take us down toward the Financial District through the busy commercial zones.”
“Understood, sir,” the driver nodded, accelerating smoothly.
The pursuit intensified. As we reached the narrower streets of lower Manhattan, the dark SUV aggressively closed the gap, its high beams flashing blindingly into our rear window.
“They’re getting reckless,” Declan muttered, pulling a small silver distress beacon from his jacket and pressing the emergency signal to alert our private security escort trailing behind us.
The dark SUV suddenly pulled into the adjacent lane, attempting to side-swipe our town car just as we turned onto Wall Street.
My heart slammed against my ribs as our driver slammed on the brakes, turning hard into an alleyway beside a historic bank building.
The dark SUV overshot the alley, screeching to a halt on the main street. Before it could reverse, two blacked-out SUVs carrying Declan’s private security detail swooped in from the opposing lane, completely blocking the alley exit and boxing the dark vehicle in.
Heavy doors slammed open. Four armed private security officers clad in tactical gear surrounded the dark SUV, weapons drawn, yelling orders for the driver to turn off the engine.
The driver’s side door of the boxed-in SUV slowly opened.
A man stepped out with his hands raised high in the air.
It wasn’t Silas or Jax.
It was Vance Sterling.
His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his tie undone, looking completely unhinged as he squinted into the glaring security lights.
“Sloane!” Vance screamed hysterically, ignoring the security officers pointing firearms at his chest.
“Sloane, I know you’re in there! Please! They’re taking everything! The feds are at the house! Father had another attack! Please, talk to me!”
I rolled down the reinforced rear window just a few inches, looking at my former husband standing under the harsh glare of the spotlights. He looked pathetic, stripped of every shred of power, privilege, and dignity he had once used to crush me.
“It’s over, Vance,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the alley.
May you like
“Save your breath for your deposition.”
The security guards forced Vance to his knees, pressing him against the cold pavement as the distant wail of approaching NYPD sirens filled the night air.
