I swerved past his SUV, the passenger-side mirror missing his bumper by inches.

We burst out of the dark garage into the bright daylight of Manhattan.

The street was chaos.

Reporters saw my car and immediately began running toward us.

Camera flashes went off like lightning against the windshield.

“Turn left,” Alexander said.

“Go toward the highway.”

I turned the wheel hard, the tires screeching on the wet asphalt.

A reporter threw himself against the hood, trying to get a picture through the glass.

I didn’t stop.

He rolled off the side as we sped away.

In the rearview mirror, I saw the black SUV pull out of the garage to follow us.

“They’re behind us,” I said.

“They won’t try anything on the highway,” Alexander said.

“There are too many witnesses.”

“But they will try to keep us in sight.”

He pulled out his phone again.

It was vibrating with calls.

The screen showed twenty missed calls from his mother.

He ignored them.

Then a text message appeared from Margaret.

I could see the preview on his screen.