Chapter 4 - The Voice from the Grave
Hearing Marcus Vance's voice after a decade of mourning his death paralyzed me.
Thirteen years ago, I had spoken at his funeral.
I had cried as they lowered an empty casket into the ground.
Now, his voice was echoing off the flooded canyon walls, dripping with malice.
I pressed the transmit button on the radio with a shaking thumb.
I asked him exactly what he wanted from me.
Vance chuckled, a sound that cut through the thunder.
He told me he did not want anything from a washed-up truck driver.
He wanted Everett Whitmore dead, and the flood was supposed to look like an accident.
Vance explained that my heroic intervention had ruined a perfectly orchestrated assassination.
I looked at Everett, who had turned the color of ash.
The billionaire realized his own ghost was pulling the strings.
Vance's voice turned cold and absolute.
He told me that if I left the Whitmores to die in the canyon, Sophie would be perfectly safe.
He promised to delete the files and never look at my daughter again.
But if I helped Everett escape, Vance would have Sophie killed before I even reached a phone.
The radio went dead.
Silence hung heavy among the survivors, broken only by the rushing floodwaters.
Blake looked at me with absolute terror.
He knew I had every reason to walk away and let the canyon swallow them.
Everett fell to his knees in the mud.
He begged me to save his son, offering me any amount of money.
I looked at the man who had stolen my reputation, my career, and my peace.
It would be so easy to turn my back and hike to safety alone.
But my daughter had asked me a question a long time ago.
Dad, if people hurt you, does that mean you get to hurt them back?
I grabbed my heavy rescue rope from my shoulder.
I told them we were climbing the eastern ridge right now.
Blake hesitated, asking why I was helping them.
I told him I was not saving them out of forgiveness.
I was keeping Everett alive so he could confess everything to the authorities and destroy Marcus Vance.
We began scaling the muddy, treacherous incline.
The rain was relentless, making the rocks slick as ice.
I led the way, pulling the older man up the steepest sections.
We were fifty feet above the floodwaters when the ground beneath Blake gave way.
He slid backward, screaming as his legs dangled over the sheer drop.
I dove onto my stomach and grabbed his wrist just in time.
My shoulder screamed in agony as it took his entire weight.
Blake looked down at the churning brown water below.
Then he looked up at me with tears mixing with the rain on his face.
He whispered, "Let me go, Ethan, you do not know the whole truth."
I gritted my teeth and told him to hold on.
Blake shook his head slowly.
He said, "It was not Vance who ordered the bridge to be built with cheap steel."
May you like
He stared into my eyes as his fingers began to slip.
"It was me."
