Chapter 11
The metal housing of the emergency call box hums with a low electrical current under the concrete expanse of the highway overpass. Traffic roars overhead, shaking the massive pillars with a rhythmic vibration that rattles the loose change in Daniel’s pockets. Martha steps up to the heavy steel box, lifting the receiver and pressing the direct-dial button for local emergency services, bypassing the need for cellular signal. After a series of rapid automated clicks, a dispatcher's calm, bored voice crackles through the static.
"State Highway Patrol. What is your emergency?"
Martha hands the heavy black receiver to Daniel, stepping back to keep watch down the highway shoulder for any sign of Evelyn’s black luxury sedans. Daniel takes a deep breath, his knuckles whitening around the plastic handle.
"My name is Daniel Vance," Daniel says clearly, pitching his voice over the roar of a passing flatbed truck. "I need to report an ongoing kidnapping and attempted murder at the Vance Estate on Maple Ridge Drive. The perpetrators are armed private security acting under the direct orders of Evelyn Vance."
The dispatcher’s tone shifts instantly from routine boredom to sharp, professional alertness. "Sir, state your exact location and the nature of the immediate threat."
"I am currently at the Route 9 overpass near mile marker forty-two," Daniel continues, his eyes locked on Clara, who stands shivering beside him, holding the plastic-wrapped bundle of evidence like a shield. "I have physical evidence—forged wills, financial transfer ledgers, and digital drives proving premeditated homicide and multi-million-dollar corporate fraud. We need an armed state trooper intercept at the estate gates immediately, and a secure escort for my wife."
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"Stay right where you are, Mr. Vance," the dispatcher instructs firmly. "A highway patrol unit is three miles south on routine patrol. They can be at your location in less than four minutes. Do not flag down civilian vehicles."
Daniel hangs up the receiver, the metallic click echoing loudly in the damp concrete alcove. He turns to Clara and Martha, a grim, exhausted smile touching the corners of his mouth for the first time in months. "The cavalry is less than four minutes away. We just have to hold our ground."
