Chapter 315

Chapter 315

She was leaning against the car door, head down, scrolling through her phone. In the fading evening light, the curve of her profile looked soft. As if everything happening here had nothing to do with her.

"No need." Stanley slipped the metal fragment into another evidence bag, his tone flat. "If they want to watch, let them watch."

He looked up at the dense grid of surveillance cameras overhead.

"From now on, everything they see and hear is what I want them to see."

Ethan said nothing.

He suddenly understood—Stanley wasn't asking for his opinion. He was stating facts.

This young man had a level of control that didn't match his age.

He tossed his car keys to one of Stanley's team members, a kid who handled modifications. "Check mine again too. One more time."

The next day, the convoy left on schedule.

Two SUVs. Stanley's crew drove the lead vehicle, with Sophia and Ethan in the back. The second was a supply truck driven by Ethan.

Behind them, a nondescript black sedan trailed at a careful distance.

They left the city behind. The skyline gave way to rolling green mountains.

Sophia rolled down her window.

Wind poured in, carrying the clean smell of soil and greenery.

She pulled out a sketchbook and began to draw.

The pencil scratched softly across the page. Her expression was focused.

Ethan sat beside her, not interrupting. Every so often he'd pass her a bottle of water, or a piece of chocolate.

Watching her draw, he felt the knot in his chest slowly loosen.

Maybe this trip really would be good for her.

Once they entered the mountains, the roads got rough.

The highway snaked upward, carved into the cliffside. On one side, sheer rock. On the other, a drop into nothing.

The lead car slowed, moving with caution.

The accident happened at a sharp turn.

"Watch out!"

The driver shouted and yanked the wheel hard left. Tires shrieked against pavement.

In the same instant, Ethan's arm shot out and pulled Sophia against him, shielding her completely.

BOOM—

A massive boulder, trailing debris and dirt, tumbled down the slope on their right and slammed into the road they'd just passed.

One of the rocks grazed the back of their vehicle, carving a vicious gash across the body.

The car jerked to a stop. Silence filled the cabin.

Dust hung in the air, choking.

"You okay?" Ethan's voice was tight. He released her and checked her over, head to toe.

"I'm fine." Sophia shook her head. Aside from being jostled, she was unhurt.

Ethan, on the other hand, had slammed his elbow into the door protecting her. Even through his sleeve, you could see the bruise spreading.

Stanley's voice crackled over the radio, calm as ever.

"Stay in position. Do not exit the vehicle."

The black sedan behind them pulled forward and stopped ahead. Four men in outdoor gear climbed out.

They moved fast. Coordinated.

Two stood watch. The other two headed straight for the collapsed slope.

Ethan watched through the window.

These weren't regular bodyguards. The way they moved—trained. Military, maybe special ops.

He glanced in the rearview. Stanley sat in the vehicle behind, tapping rapidly on a tablet.

Less than ten minutes later, the reconnaissance team returned.

One of them walked to Stanley's window and spoke quietly.

"Stanley, it was deliberate. Support points show cutting and prying marks. Professional work. Set up in advance, timed for when we'd hit this turn."

The temperature in the car plummeted.

This wasn't an accident. It was attempted murder.

Sophia's gaze drifted to the scattered boulders outside. Her face was unreadable.

Ethan's heart sank.

The Russell family? Or the unknown third party?

Out here, miles from anywhere, if the vehicles were destroyed or someone got hurt, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"We should call the police," Ethan said.

"Already did." Stanley set down the tablet. "And I gave them a little help."

As soon as he said it, Ethan's phone rang.

An unfamiliar local number.

He hesitated, then answered.

"Hello, is this Ethan? This is the Public Security Bureau. We received a tip and apprehended two suspicious individuals at a scenic overlook five kilometers ahead. They're suspected of endangering public safety. We need you and your party to come assist with the investigation."

Ethan stared at the phone.

That was... fast.

From the rockslide to now—twenty minutes, tops.

Half an hour later, at a small-town police station at the base of the mountain, they met the suspects.

Two local men, sun-darkened skin, the kind who spent their lives in the hills.

They sat cuffed to chairs, faces pale with fear.

The interrogation went smoothly. Barely any pressure and they folded.

"Officer, we—we just wanted to make some money!" one of them whimpered. "The boss at VastRock Supply hired us. Said this Ethan guy stole his contract, told us to trap his convoy on the mountain, scare him a little. Fifty grand when it was done."

The other nodded frantically. "We never meant to hurt anyone! Just block the road, make them spend the night up there, shake them up. We didn't know the rocks would roll like that..."

VastRock Supply.

Ethan remembered. A local supplier who'd been eliminated during the bidding process for the rehab center project.

Their materials hadn't met the foundation's standards.

Motive, witnesses—it all fit.

It looked like a straightforward case of business revenge.

The officer taking the statement nodded at Ethan. "We've got the situation under control. Pretty simple case—local rivalry gone bad. Don't worry, we'll handle it by the book."

Ethan nodded, but something gnawed at him.

Too smooth.

From incident to arrest—it felt rehearsed.

He glanced at Stanley, who was staring intently at something in an evidence bag.

A length of cut rebar, recovered from the scene. According to the suspects, one of the tools they'd used to pry the rocks loose.

"What is it?" Ethan moved closer, voice low.

Stanley didn't answer. Instead, he pulled up a photo on his phone.

The image showed the internal structure of the other tracker—the one they'd found on Ethan's car. The metal fragment with the unknown tech architecture.

He pointed to a tiny soldering mark in the photo, then to the cut edge of the rebar.

"This cutting technique," Stanley said quietly, just loud enough for Ethan to hear, "is military-grade cold cutting. Clean edge, no heat, no sparks. Used for bomb disposal. Covert entry."

Ethan's pupils contracted.

"A local building supply dealer, angry over losing a contract, hires two farmers from the hills."

Stanley looked up at him, eyes clear and cold.

"And gives them a military-spec cutting tool that doesn't exist on the open market—something you'd find in a spec ops manual—to pry rocks?"

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine.

He watched as Stanley placed two images side by side on his phone screen: the military cutting tool and the sophisticated tracker.

Both pointed to something far beyond ordinary business rivalry.

A building supply company using equipment like this to settle a grudge over a failed bid?

Even a three-year-old wouldn't buy that story.

"So the two farmers, the supplier boss..." Ethan's voice was barely audible.

"Pawns." Stanley pocketed his phone. "Disposable. Bait to pull our attention."

Ethan went silent.

He understood now.

Someone had staged a plausible accident, then quickly served up a logical 'culprit'—redirecting everyone's focus to an ordinary case of commercial revenge.

Meanwhile, the real objective stayed hidden beneath the performance.

Maybe they were just testing the convoy's response capabilities.

Or it was a warning.

Ethan glanced outside the station. Sophia was leaning against the car, chatting with a local girl, her expression softer than he'd seen in a long time.

His chest tightened.

Whoever was behind this, the target was clear. Them. Or more precisely—Sophia.

They left the station and got back on the road.

The atmosphere had shifted.

Ethan gripped the wheel harder than usual. Every few seconds, he checked the mirrors, scanning every vehicle around them.

Stanley rode shotgun in the lead car, calm as ever, but the laptop on his knees stayed open.

By evening, they reached the first destination on the map.

A village perched halfway up the mountain. Small. Poor. A dirt road connected it to the outside world. A few dozen brick houses scattered across the slope.

The village school was the most impressive building—a two-story concrete structure with faded slogans painted on the walls.

Children waited in the schoolyard. When they saw the convoy, they crowded forward, dark eyes filled with shy curiosity and hope.

A weathered man—the principal, by the look of him—hurried over and clasped Ethan's hand, thanking him over and over.

"Everything's in the back." Ethan gestured for Stanley's team to open the supply truck. "Brushes, paints, paper. All there."

The doors swung open.

What they saw inside froze every smile on every face.