Chapter 4 - The Highway Manhunt
Sirens wailed across interstate highways stretching from Ohio down through the mountains of eastern Tennessee. State troopers, federal marshals, and highway patrol cruisers had closed every southbound exit ramp, hunting for Grant’s black Lincoln Navigator.
Grant drove like a madman, swerving through heavy afternoon commuter traffic at over one hundred miles per hour. His knuckles were bone-white against the leather steering wheel, his eyes wild with terror as the local news radio repeatedly broadcast his name and license plate number.
"Breaking news out of Harlan County: Law enforcement officials have recovered the remains of Tessa Marlow-Thorne from a concrete burial vault at the Thorne family farm. Authorities have issued a nationwide capital murder warrant for thirty-six-year-old Grant Thorne, who is also now the primary suspect in the poisoning death of prominent real estate mogul Arthur Sterling..."
"No! No, no, no!" Grant screamed, smashing his fist against the radio touchscreen until the glass spiderwebbed and died.
He had everything planned down to the minute. Rosalind was supposed to be in a maximum-security state facility serving a quarter-century sentence. He was supposed to board an Emirates first-class flight with Savannah, living like an oil sheikh on the forty million dollars he had siphon-funneled from the Sterling estate.
Instead, a helicopter was thudding directly above his vehicle, its spotlight casting a harsh white glare onto his windshield despite the daylight.
"Lincoln Navigator, license plate Alpha-Tango-Niner, pull over to the right shoulder immediately!" a mechanical voice boomed from the chopper’s loudspeaker. "Turn off your engine and place your hands outside the window!"
Ahead of him, three state trooper cruisers deployed heavy spike strips across all three lanes of the highway.
Grant slammed on the brakes, but his momentum was too great. The heavy SUV hit the steel spikes with a violent, tearing screech. All four tires shredded instantly, sending sparks showering across the highway asphalt as the vehicle lost traction and spun violently into the concrete center divider.
The driver’s side airbag detonated with a deafening pop, breaking Grant's nose and pinning him against the crushed doorframe.
Before he could reach for the duffle bag of cash on the passenger seat, half a dozen state troopers with drawn tactical rifles surrounded the smoking wreckage. The driver's door was ripped open, and Grant was hauled out into the dirt, face slammed down against the burning concrete.
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"Grant Thorne, you are under arrest for two counts of aggravated capital murder, kidnapping, corporate embezzlement, and evidence tampering," the arresting officer declared, wrenching his arms behind his back with unforgiving force.
Grant spit blood onto the gravel, sobbing uncontrollably like a broken child. The arrogant man who had sneered at me in the courtroom had been reduced to a bleeding wreck on the side of the highway.
