Chapter 8 - The Ghost in the Machine
Daniel calmly and quietly told me to put the van in drive and pull out of the secure federal parking lot.
He warned me that if I honked the horn or screamed for the guards, he would shoot me instantly in the spine.
I slowly engaged the specialized hand controls, driving the vehicle back into the dark, desolate, rainy streets.
He arrogantly explained that he had easily escaped his plastic zip ties while Marcus and Claire were busy torturing me.
He had quietly slipped into the back of my van while I was making my desperate, chaotic escape down the driveway.
Daniel was furiously, violently angry that his secret fortune had been stolen by my treacherous sister and her hired gun.
He coldly ordered me to drive toward the abandoned, industrial shipping yards on the extreme edge of the city.
He claimed he had a private, untraceable jet waiting there to take him to a country with no extradition treaty.
He was going to use me as a highly visible human hostage to ensure he safely boarded that flight without police interference.
I stared at his dark reflection in the rearview mirror, realizing the man I married had completely lost his mind.
I knew I would never survive the night if I let him successfully take me to that deserted, isolated location.
I discreetly pushed a small, hidden red button located directly under the dashboard of my customized van.
It was a silent emergency distress beacon installed by my cautious physical therapist many months ago for my safety.
The beacon silently broadcasted my exact, real-time GPS coordinates directly to local and federal emergency services.
We drove in tense, suffocating silence until the massive, rusted metal cranes of the shipping yard finally appeared through the fog.
Daniel aggressively ordered me to stop the van near a dark, isolated warehouse situated right on the edge of the water.
He stepped out of the vehicle and aggressively grabbed the rubber handles of my wheelchair, pulling me out into the rain.
He began pushing me rapidly toward a sleek, black, unmarked helicopter waiting silently on the concrete dock ahead.
Suddenly, brilliant, blinding white spotlights illuminated the entire shipping yard from every possible direction in the sky.
A police megaphone echoed loudly through the rain, aggressively ordering Daniel to drop his weapon and surrender instantly.
Daniel grabbed my neck tightly, pressing his gun hard to my temple, determined to use me as a human shield.
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Then the helicopter pilot slowly stepped out of the dark cockpit and casually removed his aviation helmet.
The pilot was the exact same hiking ranger who had supposedly saved my life on the hill station in Colorado.
