I watched the rearview mirror, my chest tightening as the vehicle matched my speed.

“Are we being followed?” Vanessa asked, turning her head to look through the rear window.

“I don’t know,” I said, pressing my foot down on the accelerator.

The car behind us accelerated as well, the bright beams of its lights filling my mirrors with a blinding glare.

I turned sharply onto a side street, the tires splashing through a deep puddle.

The headlights followed, closer now, the silhouette of a dark SUV visible through the rain.

“It’s him,” Vanessa whispered, her voice rising in panic. “Emma, that’s Grant’s car.”

I didn’t answer, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I tried to navigate the slick, winding streets of the residential district.

Up ahead, the iron gates of Arthur Bell’s estate came into view, flanked by two stone pillars.

The gates were closed.

I slammed on the brakes, the car skidding slightly on the wet asphalt before coming to a stop in front of the entrance.

Behind us, the dark SUV pulled up, parking horizontally across the street to block our escape.