CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER 48

Olivia’s POV

After I managed to drive us out of the garage - which took an extra fifteen minutes - I turned to Maxwell for his address.

"Where exactly am I driving you, sir?" I asked, trying to keep my Oliver voice steady while gripping the steering wheel like my life depended on it.

Maxwell didn’t even look at me. Instead, he leaned forward and spoke to his car’s GPS system.

"Home," he commanded, and immediately the car’s display screen lit up with a navigation system showing his location.

I stared at the screen in confusion. The address was displayed clearly, but the route looked like a maze of streets and turns that might as well have been written in ancient Greek.

"Just follow the blue line, Mr. Hopton," Maxwell said dryly, settling back into his seat. "Even you should be able to manage that."

*Follow the blue line. Right. How hard could it be?*

I began driving at what I considered a perfectly reasonable pace - five miles per hour. In my earbuds, Kira was supporting me with encouragements mixed with mild panic.

"You’re doing great, Liv! Just keep following the GPS and try to stay in your lane."

But the problem was, staying in my lane required a level of coordination between my hands, feet, and brain that I apparently didn’t possess. The Mercedes moved slightly to the right, then slightly to the left, creating a gentle zigzag pattern that probably looked like I was drunk.

Pedestrians walking on the sidewalk were easily overtaking us. An elderly man with a walker gave me a concerned look as he overtook our car.

"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell’s voice cut through my concentration, "are we planning to arrive at my house sometime this century?"

"I’m simply being cautious, sir," I replied, not taking my eyes off the road. "You specifically instructed me not to scratch your car, so I’m following your instructions to the letter."

Maxwell’s jaw tightened. "I meant don’t crash into things, not drive like you’re in a funeral procession."

"Better safe than sorry, sir."

Kira’s voice in my ear was getting more frantic: "Olivia, you need to go a little faster. You’re probably causing a traffic jam by now."

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw at least six cars lined up behind us, their drivers looking really annoyed.

"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell said through gritted teeth, "could we at least leave the sidewalk and enter the actual road? I’m very certain that’s where cars are supposed to drive."

I looked around and realized he was right - somehow I had drifted so far right that I was practically driving on the sidewalk.

"Of course, sir," I said, overcorrecting sharply to the left.

The Mercedes swerved dramatically into the proper lane, causing Maxwell to grip his seat with his good hand.

"JESUS CHRIST!" he shouted. "What kind of driving school did you attend? The one in your backyard?"

"I’m simply adjusting to your car sir, it is quite unique," I said defensively.

This pattern continued for the next twenty minutes. Every time Maxwell complained about our pace, I had a perfectly reasonable explanation. When he pointed out that we were holding up traffic, I reminded him that safety was paramount. When he suggested I might want to use the gas pedal occasionally, I explained that I was conserving fuel.

By the time we reached the final turn toward his house, Maxwell looked like he was contemplating throwing himself from the moving vehicle - despite it only going eight miles per hour.

That’s when disaster struck.

The GPS cheerfully announced: "In 200 feet, turn right onto Terrace Street."

I saw the turn coming up and began what I thought was a gentle right turn. What I didn’t see was the massive pothole at the corner - a crater that looked like it could swallow small children.

"Watch out for that..." Maxwell started to warn me.

Too late.

The Mercedes dropped into the pothole with a loud THUNK that rattled every bone in my body. For a moment, we just sat there, suspended in this concrete crater like we’d fallen into a trap.

I pressed the gas pedal gently. The engine revved, but we didn’t move.

I pressed harder. More revving, still no movement.

"Oh no," I whispered.

"What do you mean, ’oh no’?" Maxwell demanded.

I pressed the gas pedal all the way down. The Mercedes roared like an angry beast, the wheels spun furiously, but we remained stuck in our big hole.

"We’re stuck," I announced.

Maxwell’s face went through different color changes - red, purple, burgundy...

"STUCK?" he bellowed. "HOW ARE WE STUCK?"

"The pothole, sir. We appear to be trapped inside."

For a moment, the only sound in the car was Maxwell’s heavy breathing as he processed this information.

Then he exploded.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS!" he shouted, throwing his good hand in the air. "I survive an attempted murder, I’m injured, I can barely move my arm, and now I’m TRAPPED IN A POTHOLE because my assistant drives like a BLIND OCTOPUS!"

"Sir, if you could just calm down..."

"CALM DOWN?" He thundered. "I’m sitting in a hole in the ground in a car driven by someone who apparently learned to drive from a YouTube video!"

In my earbuds, Kira’s panicked voice was asking: "What’s happening? Olivia, talk to me!"

But I couldn’t respond without revealing everything to Maxwell, so I just sat there looking miserable while he continued his tirade.

"This is perfect," Maxwell muttered, pulling out his phone with jerky, angry movements. "Just absolutely perfect."

He scrolled through his contacts and hit call. I watched nervously as he put the phone to his ear.

"Gabriel?" Maxwell’s voice suddenly became controlled again, though I could hear the fury simmering underneath. "I need your help. I’m... trapped. In a pothole. Yes, you heard that correctly. A pothole."

My heart began pounding so hard I was sure Maxwell could hear it. Gabriel was coming? Gabriel was going to see me here, in this car, stuck in a hole? What if he recognizes me? Or says something about how familiar I look, then Maxwell agrees to his assertion, and boom - they uncover my true identity?

*This day cannot possibly get any worse.*