52: Chapter 52 Rainy Night Highways and Professional Responses

Saturday, 5:00 AM. Nashville was still deep in slumber.

Alex sat in the back seat of a modified black SUV. The windows were one-way bulletproof glass, and the chassis was reinforced with armor. This was a professional modification by Hank's team—low-profile on the outside, but meeting diplomatic-grade security standards on the inside.

"Team B is in position. No abnormalities three kilometers ahead," a clear voice came through the earpiece.

"Team C is two kilometers behind. Two suspicious vehicles have been identified, following in rotation. Identification protocols have been initiated."

Hank sat in the driver's seat, his sharp gaze scanning the rearview mirror. "Team A confirms, we're being tailed. A silver Ford and a black Chevrolet, following in rotation—a standard three-car surveillance formation."

Alex nodded. His Spider-Sense had been humming steadily since they set out—the prickling at the back of his neck felt like a distant thunderstorm. But this time, his security team had detected the threat even earlier than he had.

"They're professional," Hank said into the communicator, "but not professional enough. The Ford has Tennessee plates, but the tire wear pattern indicates long-term driving in California. The Chevrolet's window tint doesn't comply with state law. Amateur mistakes."

"Should we lose them?" Team B asked.

"No," Alex suddenly spoke up. "Let them follow."

Hank turned to look at him. "Alex, we have three options to lose them safely: Route A involves a detour on Country Road 27, Route B enters the city to use the morning rush hour traffic, and Route C goes directly to a State Police station for an escort."

"Choose D," Alex said. "Let them follow, but record everything. I need evidence, not just safety."

Hank was silent for two seconds. "The risk is high. If they decide to make a move on the road..."

"That's why we need to be better prepared." Alex pulled up a map on his phone. "There's Rest Area One fifteen kilometers ahead. It has a complete surveillance system, convenience store cameras, and—" he zoomed in on a satellite image, "—a fixed speed camera from the State Department of Transportation on the west side of the parking lot. The angle covers the entire area perfectly."

Hank's eyes lit up. "You want to expose them there?"

"If they really want to make a move, a rest area is an ideal location—fewer people, cover available, and easy to fake a 'robbery' or 'dispute'," Alex said. "But if we know in advance, we can counter them."

Hank quickly issued orders: "Everyone pay attention, the target is turning into Rest Area One. Team B, arrive five minutes early and take control of the surveillance room and high ground. Team C, block the exits but stay hidden. Team A, adjust following distance and maintain tactical support."

Five minutes later, the SUV pulled into the rest area parking lot. At 6:00 AM, there were only three vehicles: a long-haul truck, a family RV, and a gray sedan parked in a corner—that was Team B's car, already in place.

Alex got out of the car and deliberately walked toward the convenience store. The prickling of his Spider-Sense intensified, pointing clearly toward the parking lot entrance—the two tailing cars had indeed followed them in.

"Targets have entered the parking lot. The silver Ford is in the third spot on the east side, and the black Chevrolet is at the entrance," Hank's voice came through the miniature earpiece. "Two people in the Ford, three in the Chevrolet. The Ford's passenger is on the phone, and the person in the back of the Chevrolet has their hand on their waist—confirmed carrying weapons."

Alex walked into the convenience store, bought a bottle of water, and watched the window through a gap in the shelves. The people in the Ford got out—two men in work pants walking toward the store.

"They're coming in," Alex whispered.

"Team B has secured the back door. The owner is a veteran and has cooperated with the evacuation. Team C is on standby in the parking lot. Stay calm."

The convenience store bell rang. Two men walked in, their eyes immediately locking onto Alex.

One man walked toward the shelves while the other came straight to the checkout counter—where Alex was standing.

"Good morning," the man said, his voice raspy. "Alex Su?"

"That's me," Alex replied calmly.

"Our boss wants to talk to you," the man said. "About some things regarding your parents."

His Spider-Sense prickled violently—not because of the two men in front of him, but because of the Chevrolet in the parking lot. There was a greater danger there.

"Fine," Alex said. "But we talk here. In public, with surveillance."

The man smiled, a smile devoid of warmth. "Some things aren't meant to be recorded. Get in the car with us, it'll only take five minutes."

"Then say it here," Alex refused to budge. "Or have your boss come here himself."

The two men exchanged a look. The one near the shelves suddenly reached for a handgun at his waist—but only made it halfway.

"Don't move!" Two of Hank's team members burst from the back door, their muzzles locked on the men. "Hands up! Now!"

Simultaneously, the sound of hurried footsteps and shouting came from the parking lot. Team C had already neutralized the three people in the Chevrolet, seizing two handguns and a set of listening equipment.

The entire process took thirty seconds—professional, swift, and silent.

As Alex walked out of the convenience store, the five attackers had already been handcuffed and loaded into an unmarked van—Hank's prepared 'mobile interrogation room.'

"Clean and efficient," Hank walked over. "But they were just bait."

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We found this in the Chevrolet's trunk." Hank handed over a tablet showing a thermal imaging scan. "There are two more people in the woods behind the rest area. They have sniper gear but haven't made a move. It's like they're... observing."

The prickling of his Spider-Sense shifted toward the woods. It wasn't an immediate lethal threat, but rather an evaluative gaze.

"A third party," Alex whispered. "Not Winston's people. Winston's people would have made a direct move, they wouldn't just watch like this."

Hank nodded. "Should we clear them out?"

"No." Alex looked toward the woods. "Let them watch. I want everyone to know—if you want to move against me, you'll have to pay a price."

He walked back to the SUV but didn't leave immediately. Instead, he took out his phone, opened social media, and posted a concise status:

"On the road early this morning, ran into a few people who wanted to 'chat.' Thanks to my security team for their professional response. On the creative path, there are always voices trying to silence you, but my response will always be: keep singing, keep writing, keep standing in the light. 'We Are Young,' November 15th, see you there."

The attached photo was of the sunrise at the rest area, deliberately including half of the convenience store's storefront.

After posting, he looked toward the woods. The prickling of his Spider-Sense was fading—those two people had retreated.

The car got back on the road. An hour later, Hank received the interrogation report.

"Professional thugs hired by a security company in Miami. Behind that company is a shell corporation with no traceable actual controller," Hank said. "But they did reveal one detail—the employer emphasized 'don't actually hurt the target, but create enough of a threat.'"

"Intimidation," Alex understood. "They didn't want to kill me; they wanted to scare me off. To make me afraid to go to Los Angeles to sign the contract."

"Did it work?"

Alex smiled. "On the contrary. Now I'm even more determined to go, and I'm going to do it loudly."

---

1:00 PM, Universal Music building, Los Angeles.

Before the signing ceremony, Alex met James Miller in the VIP lounge. The Senior Vice President of Universal Music had specifically flown from Nashville to Los Angeles today to show his regard.

"Was the trip smooth?" James asked, a deep look in his eyes.

"Ran into a few minor episodes," Alex said dismissively, "but my team handled it well."

James nodded and handed over the final version of the contract. "Legal has finished their review. A $600,000 advance, paid in two installments. The copyright terms are as you requested—you retain 100% of the songwriting rights, the recording rights are licensed for ten years, and we have the right of first refusal. The royalty tiers: 40/60 for the first album, 45/55 after 500,000 copies, and 50/50 after 1 million copies."

Alex quickly scanned the key clauses, confirmed everything was correct, and signed.

The signing ceremony was held in the second-floor lobby. There were more media outlets present than expected—clearly, the morning's 'minor episode' had already spread.

A CNN reporter was the first to ask: "Mr. Su, there are reports that you encountered a threat on Highway 40 this morning. Will this affect your creativity and career development?"

Alex faced the camera with a composed posture. "Threats always exist, but fear is optional. What happened this morning only proves that my work has touched someone's nerves. I take it as a form of reverse validation—if your work is insignificant, no one bothers to stop you."

A Rolling Stone reporter followed up: "Your parents passed away ten years ago, and there have been recent rumors that it might not have been an accident. Are you investigating this?"

This was a dangerous question. Alex paused for two seconds and answered cautiously: "The loss of my parents is the greatest pain of my life. As for the truth... I believe time will reveal all. But for now, I prefer to commemorate them through music—transforming pain into beauty and loss into creation."

He skillfully avoided the trap while leaving some room for interpretation.

After the signing ceremony, in a private lounge, James gave Alex an extra gift.

"The selection for the opening act of Taylor Swift's 'Eras' tour next year," James said. "We've secured an audition slot for you. Next month in Nashville, her team will come to hear you perform three songs live."

This was a massive opportunity. Being the opening act for Taylor's tour meant exposure to tens of thousands of audience members and validation from her fan base.

"I will prepare seriously," Alex said.

"One more thing," James lowered his voice. "Universal has its own security consulting team. Considering your current... situation, the company is willing to provide you with additional security support. Not to replace your current team, but as a supplement."

This time, Alex didn't refuse. "Thank you. My team lead, Hank, will coordinate with you."

In the evening, Alex returned to his hotel—not the Four Seasons he had booked, but a safe house Hank had temporarily switched to, a low-key but highly secure boutique hotel.

Just as he entered the room, his Spider-Sense suddenly gave a warning—not of danger, but of being watched.

He walked to the window and peered through a gap in the blinds. On the second floor of the cafe across the street, a figure sat by the window with a laptop in front of them.

The Man in Gray.

The person seemed to know Alex was watching and raised a hand in a gesture: palms flat, then flipped over—meaning 'lower your guard, let's talk.'

Hank's voice came through Alex's earpiece: "Target confirmed, male, 35-40 years old, sitting alone, no signs of weapons. Do you need us to make contact?"

"I'll go alone," Alex said. "You guys monitor the perimeter."

"Alex, that doesn't comply with—"

"If he really wanted to harm me, he had his chance in the woods this morning," Alex said. "Besides... there are some things I want to ask him clearly."

Five minutes later, Alex walked into the cafe. The Man in Gray had already ordered two coffees and pushed one over.

"Black coffee, no sugar," the Man in Gray said. "You mentioned your preference on Twitter."

Alex sat down without touching the coffee. "Who are you?"

"You can call me the 'Night Watcher'," the Man in Gray—the Night Watcher—smiled. "It's not my real name, but it's enough."

"Was that you in the woods this morning?"

"Me and my partner," the Night Watcher nodded. "We observe, record, and occasionally intervene. This morning, if those people had actually made a move, we would have stopped them."

"Why?"

The Night Watcher took a sip of coffee. "Because like your parents, you've touched something you shouldn't have. But unlike your parents... you stand in the light. That makes you much harder to 'deal with'."

Alex leaned forward. "What do you know about my parents' death?"

"I know they discovered that the test data for the NT-7 material had been tampered with. I know they refused to sign off on it. I know they were preparing to report it to the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration)," the Night Watcher paused. "And then they boarded that plane."

"Senator Winston."

"He's the executor, not the decision-maker," the Night Watcher said. "The ones truly making the decisions are the board of Northrop Corporation, certain officials in the Department of Defense, a... system. Winston is just a link in that system, responsible for clearing obstacles."

Alex gripped his coffee cup. "Where's the evidence?"

The Night Watcher took a file folder out of his bag and pushed it toward Alex. "This is a copy. The original is in a safe place. Inside are photocopies of your father's work logs, printouts of internal emails, and fragments of meeting minutes—enough for you to understand what happened, but not enough for court."

"Why give this to me?"

"Because you have influence now." The Night Watcher looked directly at him. "A young creator signed to Universal, supported by Taylor Swift, and with millions of followers on social media is much harder to deal with than an ordinary pair of engineers. And... you seem to have some kind of 'good luck,' always surviving in danger."

Alex didn't correct his statement about 'good luck.'

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Cooperation," the Night Watcher said. "I need someone in the open to expose the things in the dark. And you... need to know the truth. We can help each other."

"How?"

"I will provide information and protection. And you, keep doing what you're doing—creating, speaking out, standing in the spotlight. Just occasionally, when the time is right, weave certain truths into your stories."

Alex was silent for a long time. His Spider-Sense sent a faint, complex signal regarding the Night Watcher—it wasn't pure malice, but it wasn't complete goodwill either. It was like... a cautious alliance.

"I need to think about it," Alex finally said.

"Of course." The Night Watcher stood up and left a business card—with only an encrypted communication number. "You have three days. Also... watch out for Winston's next move. You thwarted his intimidation today; he might escalate his methods."

After the Night Watcher left, Alex sat in his seat, looking at the file folder.

He ultimately did not open it.

Not yet. He needed to consolidate his position first—complete the release of 'We Are Young,' prepare for the Taylor tour audition, and gain a firm foothold.

Then, he would touch the truth that could change everything.