I took the quiet archivist position at Harland Capital in Denver hoping my past would never find me.
The snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets, transforming the familiar city streets into a ghostly white maze. My sedan fishtailed slightly as I sped out of the Harland Capital parking garage, the tires struggling for purchase on the rapidly accumulating ice. The canvas bag with the audit files lay on the passenger seat, a beacon of truth and a target.
In my rearview mirror, the black SUV, headlights cutting through the blizzard, was already gaining. Bianca’s private investigator. He wasn’t giving up.
I swerved onto the on-ramp for Interstate 70, the main artery heading west towards Golden. The highway, usually a bustling river of commuters, was eerily sparse, most drivers wisely staying home. The few cars I saw were crawling. I couldn’t afford to crawl.
My hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. The wipers struggled to clear the onslaught of snow, pushing it from side to side in blurry arcs. Visibility dropped to mere feet.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered, pressing harder on the gas.
The SUV, however, was clearly better equipped for the conditions. Its larger tires and heavier frame gave it more stability. It was closing the gap. I could see its grill, a dark, menacing shape in the swirling snow.
We hit an overpass, a notorious spot for black ice even in milder conditions. The road felt slicker, more treacherous. The wind howled, a banshee wail that shook the car.
I saw a flash of movement in my side mirror – the SUV was trying to overtake me, pulling into the lane beside me. He was going to cut me off, force me to stop.
Panic flared. I jerked the wheel, trying to accelerate, to create distance.
But the un-plowed highway surface, layered with fresh snow over old ice, betrayed me. My tires lost all traction.
The car lurched violently, skidding sideways. I fought the wheel, trying to correct, but it was useless. The world became a blur of white and spinning metal.
The sedan slid across three lanes, completely out of control. I heard the frantic honking of a distant semi-truck, its air horn a mournful blast in the storm.
Then, a sickening crunch. The impact threw me forward, my seatbelt locking tight against my chest. The world snapped back into focus, though everything was tilted at an unnatural angle.
My car was wedged against a concrete bridge support, the front end crumpled, steam rising from the crushed engine. The dashboard lights flickered erratically. A sharp pain shot through my head as I slammed against the headrest.
Through the broken windshield, I saw the black SUV. It had paused for a split second, its silhouette stark against the whiteout. Then, its tail lights flared, and it sped away, vanishing into the dark, swirling storm, leaving me alone in the wreckage.
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