Chapter 10 - The False Victory
Sloane and I threw our entire body weight backward in perfect unison.
The heavy leather belt strained, groaning under the immense pressure.
For a terrifying second, nothing happened.
Then, a sharp, metallic snap echoed beneath the train.
The rusted safety seal broke.
The massive brass lever wrenched downward, opening the primary pneumatic bleed valve completely.
A deafening hiss erupted as thousands of pounds of compressed air were violently dumped from the suspension system.
The heavy steel brake pads slammed down directly onto the spinning wheels with brutal, unrelenting force.
An explosion of blinding orange sparks showered over us, illuminating the dark undercarriage like a fireworks display.
The train shuddered violently, the screech of tortured metal drowning out the wind.
The sheer G-force of the sudden deceleration nearly tore us from the crossbeams.
I wrapped my good arm tightly around Sloane, pinning her against the steel frame as the train ground against the tracks.
The Lancaster curve rushed toward us, the tracks bending sharply to the right.
The train tilted dangerously, groaning as the massive weight fought the momentum.
But the physical anchor held.
The train screamed, shuttered, and finally ground to a violent, sparking halt just inches from the edge of the deadly curve.
Silence fell over the tracks, interrupted only by the hiss of escaping steam and the whimpers of terrified passengers.
We were alive.
Marcus reached down through the hatch, helping haul Sloane and me back up into the vestibule.
I collapsed onto the metal floorboards, clutching my broken, throbbing arm.
Sloane sat beside me, wiping grease from her face and laughing through her tears.
Ethan was huddled in the corner, staring at me with a mixture of awe and absolute terror.
Ten minutes later, the wail of police sirens and emergency vehicles surrounded the train.
First responders flooded the cars, evacuating passengers and securing the scene.
Paramedics placed a splint on my arm and guided me out onto the gravel embankment.
I watched as state troopers slapped handcuffs on Ethan, arresting him for his role in the corporate sabotage.
He didn't even look at me as they shoved him into the back of a squad car.
Sloane gave her statement to the police, ensuring they knew exactly what Ethan and Vance had planned.
I sat on the bumper of an ambulance, feeling a profound sense of triumph and closure.
A weary-looking detective approached me, holding an evidence bag containing a cracked, blood-stained cell phone.
"Ms. Mercer?" the detective asked.
"We recovered this burner phone from the body of the man who fell off the roof."
The detective unsealed the bag and handed me the device.
"We need you to identify the sender of the last text message he received."
I looked down at the illuminated screen, reading the final message sent to Vance just minutes before the crash.
The text read: The Caldwell merger is dead, but make sure Warren's daughter takes the fall for the crash.
My blood turned to absolute ice.
May you like
Warren was my father.
And the contact name at the top of the screen was my father's old business partner, a man I thought had died in a car accident ten years ago.
