Chapter 8 - The Crimson Dossier
The scattered papers fluttered through the dark interior of the speeding town car like trapped birds. Julian didn’t reach for them. His dark eyes remained fixed on Miller, whose scarred face was illuminated by the flashing amber lights of a highway patrol checkpoint looming a mile ahead in the thick fog.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miller,” Julian warned, his voice a low, steady rumble that commanded the cramped space. “If that checkpoint stops us, federal agents will have your biometric data within thirty seconds. You won’t make it past the state line.”
Miller sneered, tucking a thick manila folder marked with a crimson stamp inside his tailored jacket. “Let them try, Julian. Do you really think the government wants a public trial about what happened in Berlin six years ago? Your precious corporate empire would crumble into dust before the morning news cycle even begins.”
In the back seat, Marisa clutched Valentina tightly as the car slowed down, the red and blue flashing lights of the police cruiser ahead casting an eerie glow through the tinted windows. The driver shifted gears, bringing the vehicle to a smooth stop right beside a pair of state troopers standing in the freezing mist. One of the troopers stepped forward, resting a hand on his holster as he shined a high-powered flashlight beam through the rear window.
Marisa held her breath, closing her eyes in a silent prayer. If the trooper asked for identification, their fake travel papers would instantly fail, exposing them to both Clara’s wrath and Miller’s violent syndicate.
The flashlight beam swept across Marisa’s terrified face, then lingered for a long, agonizing moment on sleeping Valentina, who stirred slightly and mumbled something unintelligible, clutching her stuffed rabbit tighter.
Outside, the trooper tapped sharply on the glass. Julian slowly rolled the window down, the cold night air rushing into the cabin.
“Good evening, Officer,” Julian said smoothly, his tone projecting absolute authority and calm confidence, as if he were merely a tired executive returning from a late-night meeting. “Is there a problem?”
The trooper peered into the back seat, his eyes narrowing as he took in Julian’s navy suit, Miller’s tense posture in the front, and Marisa holding a child. “Routine security sweep, sir. We’ve had reports of an unregistered vehicle leaving the Sterling estate under suspicious circumstances. I’m going to need to see identification for everyone in this car.”
Miller’s hand twitched toward his inner jacket pocket, his fingers brushing the cold steel of his firearm. Julian noticed the movement instantly. With a lightning-fast, calculated motion, Julian reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a small black leather cardholder emblazoned with a federal seal, and flashed it briefly to the trooper before closing it with a sharp snap.
The trooper’s eyes widened. He immediately stepped back, squared his shoulders, and offered a crisp salute. “Apologies, Agent Sterling. We didn’t receive the priority dispatch for this sector. Have a safe journey.”
The window rolled up, and the town car surged forward past the checkpoint. Miller exhaled a slow, ragged breath, looking at Julian with a mixture of grudging respect and deep suspicion.
“You’re still carrying the badge,” Miller murmured. “I thought you buried that life the day you married into high society.”
Julian looked out the window at the dark, desolate highway stretching endlessly ahead. “Some ghosts never stay in the grave,” he replied coldly.
May you like
As the car accelerated toward the private airfield hidden deep within the industrial sector, Marisa looked down at the floorboards where the scattered papers had landed. Her eyes caught a single, loose photograph that had slid out from beneath the crimson dossier. It was a picture of Julian standing outside a snowy European safehouse, holding a newborn infant in his arms—and standing right beside him, smiling warmly into the camera, was a woman who looked strikingly, impossibly identical to Clara.
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