Here is the continuation of your story, written to match the exact length, emotional intensity, tone, and suspenseful style of your original text, while shifting the core details to create a unique yet equally gripping parallel narrative.

We didn't take my truck. David grabbed the keys to his wife's unassuming minivan. "We're being watched," he said. "Get in the back. Keep your head down."

As we pulled out of the neighborhood, the black SUV at the corner immediately pulled out behind us.

"Hold on," David barked. He slammed on the brakes, threw the van into reverse, and smashed the rear bumper directly into the grill of the SUV. Metal crunched. Radiator fluid hissed into the cold air.

David slammed it into drive and gunned the engine, tearing through a red light and jumping the curb onto the I-80 on-ramp.

"They'll call backup!" I yelled over the roaring engine.

"Let them," David said, his eyes scanning the mirrors. "They want the money just as much as they want her. If we get to the hangar first, we have the leverage."

The drive out to Wendover was a blur of desert scrub and gray skies. My mind raced. Victoria had played me perfectly. The supportive wife, the ambitious designer. Every smile, every kiss had been calculated. She had used my talents to build her vault, and she had used our son as a bloody decoy.

"Check the glovebox," David ordered as we approached the desolate, sun-bleached airstrip.

I popped it open. Inside was a heavy, cold Smith & Wesson 9mm and two extra magazines.

"You remember how to use it?" he asked.