“You might as well stop, Brent,” a voice from behind called.
Brent ignored him and kept on running. He had no idea where he was going because, as far as he could tell, he’d never been in those woods before, but he refused to just stop and let them kill him.
If only he’d listened to his wife and never got involved in the cover-up in the first place, but no, he loved the idea of being a big shot in the firm. He remembered how he told her they’d be moving up the ladder so quickly, she’d get dizzy.
He wondered if she felt dizzy the day those bastards pushed her off the roof.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” another man shouted from close in front of Brent.
Veering to the right, Brent broke into a sprint even though his lungs felt like they would burst at any minute. He wished he’d kept going to the gym regularly, but doubted it would matter in this situation. He couldn’t outrun a gun.
Brent sprang out of some undergrowth into a clearing. He looked behind him, and confident he’d lost them for the moment, pushed forward. After going about one hundred feet, he came to an abrupt stop.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Jameson asked as he walked up behind Brent.
Brent stepped back another foot, careful not to slip off the edge of the cliff he’d just stumbled upon. He could feel dirt sliding off the edge under his feet.
“Looks like there’s nowhere left to run,” Parker answered his cohort.
Brent thought about trying to bribe them, but knew no amount of money would make them turn on Charles Wentworth. Not that he had enough money to out pay Charles in the first place.
Charles Wentworth. The thought of him getting away with everything he’d done tore Brent up inside. He was so busying replaying the last nine months, that he completely forgot the two men waiting to kill him. When Jameson suddenly rushed forward and said, “boo,” Brent involuntarily took a step back in fright.
“That was easy enough,” Parker remarked to Jameson as they watched Brent fall to the rocky ledge some fifty feet below the cliff.