Chapter 25 - The Ghost in the Paddock
By Thursday night, the battle had shifted from the track to the dim backrooms of the city council. Marcus and I hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
With the help of David’s old commanding officer, now Deputy Mayor James Miller, we forced a legal injunction through an emergency midnight session of the municipal board. Because the downtown race crossed city avenues, the municipal charter gave the city the right to invite 'Honorary At-Large Competitors' who were immune to private sports syndicate bans.
Mia was back on the roster.
Montgomery had retaliated instantly. Every sports network, local newspaper, and racing blog was flooded with anonymous leaks calling Mia an "unstable risk" and accusing Marcus of exploiting a disabled child for financial sympathy. The internet erupted in a venomous debate. Some called Mia an inspiration; others called us reckless, attention-seeking charlatans endangering public safety while an armed stalker was on the loose.
At midnight, Marcus’s private garage on the outskirts of town was silent. Outside, two armed off-duty police officers hired by Marcus patrolled the floodlit perimeter.
I was sitting on an oil drum, watching Marcus fine-tune the high-tensile bearings on Mia's carbon wheels, when the perimeter floodlights suddenly flickered and died.
Total darkness swallowed the workshop.
"Elena, get behind the workbench," Marcus whispered instantly, his hand dropping to the holster at his hip. "Officers! Check the main breaker!"
Silence. The hum of the wind outside was the only response.
Then, the small side door creaked open. The silhouette of a man stepped through, moving with a limp. He didn't look like Arthur; he was too tall, his shoulders broader, wearing a heavy mechanic’s coat with the collar turned up against the cold.
"Hold it right there!" Marcus ordered, bringing his service pistol up with both hands. "One more step and I drop you."
The man stopped. Slowly, he raised two calloused hands into the dim moonlight filtering through the dusty windows.
"Put the gun down, Marcus," a raspy, gravelly voice spoke from the shadows. "I didn't dodge Montgomery’s hit squad for four years just to get put down by David Vance’s little brother."
Marcus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He reached over, clicking on a high-powered tactical flashlight mounted on the wall, shining the beam directly into the man’s face.
The man had a jagged scar tracing from his temple to his jawline. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes hollowed by years of hiding in the underbelly of the country.
"Frank?" Marcus gasped, lowering the weapon slightly, utter shock carving lines across his face. "Frank Callahan? You’re... you're dead. Your car blew up in Gary four years ago."
"David told the world I was dead to keep Montgomery from finishing the job," Frank Callahan rasped, stepping into the light. "I was David’s chief testing engineer. I signed the whistle-blower report on the guardrails before your car went over the cliff on County Road 9."
My chest seized. "You knew David was going to the authorities?"
May you like
"I was the one who gave him the metallurgical tests," Frank said, pulling an old, battered external hard drive from his pocket and setting it on the steel worktable. "Arthur didn't act alone, Mrs. Vance. He's Montgomery’s attack dog. When David wouldn't be bought off, Montgomery hired Arthur to cut the brake lines on your sedan that Tuesday afternoon. It wasn't just black ice. Your brakes were bled dry before you even hit the highway."
***
