It was just past midnight when Ava Grant realized she was the only car on that stretch of Highway 47.
No lights. No sound. Just the steady hum of the road beneath her tires.

Her phone buzzed.
“Stepdad – Mark” flashed on the screen.

She hesitated.
They hadn’t spoken in weeks — not since she found out he’d been lying about where he’d been the night her mother died.

Still, something in her gut told her to answer.

“Ava,” Mark’s voice came through — low, shaky. “Listen carefully. Don’t hang up. There’s a black truck behind you. Don’t look in the mirror. Just keep driving.”

Her hands froze on the wheel. She glanced up anyway.

Headlights.
Far back — but there.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.
“They found out you have the file,” Mark said. “The one from your mom’s laptop. They think you know too much.”

Ava’s chest tightened. The “file” — she’d barely opened it, just seen strange bank transfers and coded emails.

“Who are they?” she demanded.
“You’ll know soon enough,” Mark said. “Now, when I say turn left—”

CRASH!

A loud bang shook her car. The black truck slammed into her rear bumper, sending her spinning toward the guardrail. She screamed, gripping the wheel, fighting for control.

“Ava! Stay on the line!” Mark shouted.
“What do they want?!”
“To make sure that file disappears— and you with it!”

The truck rammed her again. Her car fishtailed. The road blurred.

She spotted a gas station sign up ahead — dark, abandoned. She floored the gas, veering off the highway, tires screeching.

The truck followed.

She slammed the brakes, swerving behind the gas station and cutting the lights. Heart pounding, she whispered,

“Mark, I’m hiding. What do I do now?”

But there was no answer.
Only silence — and then a new voice on the phone.

“Ava,” it said. “Stepdad’s not here anymore.”

Her blood ran cold.

Before she could move, the black truck’s headlights swept across the building. Two men jumped out, armed.

Ava ducked. Her hands trembled — then touched the small GPS tracker her stepdad had once installed under her dashboard. She remembered what he’d said months ago, half-joking:

“If you’re ever in trouble, hit the red switch.”

She pressed it.

Thirty minutes later.

Helicopters thundered overhead. Red and blue lights flooded the gas station. FBI agents surrounded the truck.

The two men were dragged out in cuffs — both members of a private security firm linked to an international money-laundering network.

Ava sat on the hood of an ambulance, shaking.

An agent approached her. “Miss Grant, your stepfather gave us your location just before they got to him. He was working with us. He was trying to protect you.”

Ava’s eyes filled with tears.

“Is he—?”
“He didn’t make it,” the agent said quietly. “But thanks to him, the operation’s over. You’re safe.”

Ava looked at the phone still in her hand — his number glowing on the cracked screen.

Thirty minutes ago, she’d thought he was the enemy.
Now she realized — he’d died saving her life.