PART 9 — THE ROAD THEY CHOSE FOR ME

I stared at the schedule on Michael’s screen.
JUNE HALE — THURSDAY — 8:30 A.M. — HWY 27 SOUTH.
Tomorrow.
My routine.
My road.
My father’s grave.
Nolan stepped closer.
“You are not driving that route tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
Rebecca folded her arms.
“What do we know about the location?”
Michael zoomed in on the map.
Highway 27 South cut through long stretches of marsh and open land.
Few houses.
Few businesses.
Very little traffic early in the morning.
Nolan pointed to a section near a narrow bridge.
“This is where the route gets isolated.”
My stomach tightened.
“What could happen there?”
He looked at me.
“We don’t speculate ahead of the evidence.”
But his face told me enough.
Michael clicked the note attached to the schedule.
Another line appeared.
WEATHER WINDOW ACCEPTABLE.
I felt cold.
“Weather?”
Nolan leaned in.
“What was tomorrow’s forecast when this was created?”
Michael searched the file history.
“It was entered five days ago.”
Then he checked the old forecast record saved in the folder.
Heavy morning rain.
Reduced visibility.
My throat tightened.
Rebecca whispered, “They wanted bad weather.”
Nolan corrected her.
“They noted bad weather.”
But nobody in the room missed the implication.
Michael scrolled farther.
Another line.
SECONDARY VEHICLE READY.
Then:
RECOVERY DELAY 15+ MIN.
I looked at him.
“What does recovery mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Another attachment appeared.
Vehicle diagram.
My truck.
Not similar.
Mine.
Same model.
Same plate number.
Same dent near the rear bumper.
I stepped backward.
“They know my plate.”
Nolan said quietly, “They photographed your vehicle.”
Then Michael opened a maintenance note.
BRAKE INSPECTION — NOT REQUIRED.
I felt sick.
“No.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“What?”
“Travis kept telling me my brakes felt fine.”
Everyone turned.
I swallowed.
“Two months ago, I said the pedal felt softer than usual.”
Rebecca’s face changed.
“What did he say?”
“He said I was imagining it.”
Nolan asked, “Did anyone service the truck after that?”
“Travis said he did.”
“Did you see him do it?”
“No.”
My pulse hammered.
“Could someone have tampered with it?”
Nolan answered carefully.
“We don’t know.”
Then he said, “Where is your truck now?”
“At Rebecca’s office parking lot.”
“Don’t touch it.”
He made a call immediately.
Thirty minutes later, two investigators and a mechanic arrived.
They took the truck for inspection.
I watched it leave through the window.
That vehicle had been mine for six years.
I had driven it to the grocery store.
To the tax office.
To Daddy’s grave.
To every appointment.
Every errand.
Every ordinary part of my life.
Now I looked at it like it might be evidence.
At 2:14 p.m., Travis’s attorney called Rebecca.
Travis wanted to speak again.
Nolan agreed to another formal interview.
I didn’t want to hear his voice.
But this time, Travis had something specific to offer.
A name.
Another name.
Not Darren.
Not Marcus.
Someone higher.
Rebecca returned two hours later.
“He says Marcus didn’t build this alone.”
I stared at her.
“Who did?”
“Travis claims the vendor scheme started with Darren, but Marcus turned it into something larger.”
“Larger how?”
“Insurance fraud.”
My stomach dropped.
Rebecca continued.
“Travis says he didn’t understand the full operation at first.”
I laughed.
“I’m sure.”
“I’m telling you what he claims.”
“Go on.”
“According to Travis, Marcus would identify people connected to shell companies.”
“People like me?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“He would take out policies, create paperwork, and build financial relationships around them.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
Rebecca’s voice lowered.
“To create payouts.”
I froze.
“You mean people died?”
“He did not say that.”
“Then say exactly what he said.”
Rebecca looked directly at me.
“He said, ‘Sometimes accidents become profitable.’”
The room went silent.
My skin crawled.
“Who said that?”
“Travis says Marcus did.”
Nolan, standing near the door, asked, “When?”
“About two years ago.”
“And Travis stayed involved?”
Rebecca nodded.
“That’s what makes his cooperation complicated.”
I understood.
He wasn’t innocent.
He was scared.
There was a difference.
Michael entered carrying the black notebook evidence summary.
“We may have a match.”
“To what?”
He placed a list on the table.
Several names.
Next to each:
POLICY.
STATUS.
DATE.
One name had a date eighteen months ago.
Another, eleven months ago.
Another, seven.
“What are these?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Are these people alive?”
Michael didn’t answer immediately.
My stomach dropped.
“Michael.”
He pointed to the first name.
“Dead.”
The second.
“Dead.”
The third.
“Dead.”
Rebecca went pale.
“How?”
Michael read.
Car crash.
Boating accident.
Industrial fall.
My knees weakened.
“All accidents?”
“Yes.”
Nolan stepped forward.
“Do not jump to conclusions.”
But his voice had changed.
Michael added, “Each person was linked to a company later connected to Marcus.”
Nobody spoke.
Then he pointed to the payout column.
$1.2 million.
$800,000.
$2.4 million.
My mouth went dry.
“And my policy?”
“Two million.”
The room felt smaller.
I whispered, “I’m on the same list.”
Michael didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Nolan looked at him.
“Give me copies of everything.”
Michael nodded.
Then Nolan turned to me.
“June, I need you to understand something.”
I looked at him.
“This is no longer about catching someone in a lie.”
I knew.
“If these records are authentic and connected the way they appear, we may be looking at something much more serious.”
I nodded.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
I didn’t touch it.
A message appeared.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE QUIET.
My heart hammered.
Another.
TRAVIS MADE YOU CURIOUS.
Another.
CURIOSITY HAS A PRICE.
Nolan took the phone.
Then one final message appeared.
ASK TRAVIS ABOUT LAUREN.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Who’s Lauren?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael immediately searched the files.
Nothing obvious.
Then Nolan said, “Ask Travis.”
Rebecca called his attorney.
Twenty minutes later, we got an answer.
And Travis’s reaction scared me more than the text.
According to his attorney, the moment he heard the name Lauren, Travis stopped talking.
Completely.
Then he said:
“I need protection.”
Nolan’s eyes narrowed.
Rebecca asked through the attorney:
“Who is Lauren?”
Travis refused.
“Why?”
No answer.
Then his attorney called back.
Travis had changed his mind.
He wanted to speak.
But only if investigators agreed to move him somewhere secure first.
Nolan left the room.
Another hour passed.
Then Rebecca’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
Her face went pale.
“What happened?”
She hung up slowly.
“Travis told them about Lauren.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who is she?”
Rebecca sat down.
“Lauren Vane.”
I stared.
“Vane?”
“Marcus’s wife.”
“Was?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“She died four years ago.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Rebecca.”
“Car accident.”
My blood went cold.
Michael immediately searched.
A news archive entry appeared.
Single-vehicle crash.
Wet road.
Vehicle left the highway.
No other cars involved.
My stomach turned.
“How much insurance?”
Michael searched farther.
Then froze.
“What?”
He turned the screen.
$3 million.
Beneficiary:
VANE HOLDINGS GROUP.
Marcus’s company.
Nobody moved.
Then Rebecca whispered:
“June… there’s more.”
“What?”
“Lauren’s crash happened on Highway 27 South.”
The room vanished around me.
Same road.
Same rain.
Same kind of policy.
Same isolated stretch.
My voice barely came out.
“When?”
Michael checked.
“8:41 in the morning.”
Almost exactly the time listed for me.
Nolan returned at that moment.
His face was grim.
“We have an emergency.”
“What?”
“The mechanic finished the first inspection of your truck.”
I felt my heart stop.
“And?”
He looked directly at me.
“The rear brake line has been deliberately cut.”
Nobody spoke.
Not even Rebecca.
Nolan continued.
“It was partially damaged in a way that could fail under pressure.”
My hands started shaking.
“How long?”
“They can’t say yet.”
“But it was cut?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
Tomorrow morning.
Heavy rain.
Highway 27.
My truck.
Soft brakes.
Fifteen-minute recovery delay.
A two-million-dollar policy.
And a dead woman named Lauren Vane who had crashed on the same road under almost the same conditions.
This wasn’t a threat anymore.bn
It was a plan.
And someone had already started preparing my truck for it.

READ THE NEXT PART: 👇👇

PART 10 — My husband secretly removed me from our accounts, then laughed