As I drove down the highway, my mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. I needed to contact the police, but I also couldn’t shake the feeling that time was of the essence. What if the kidnappers realized Max was gone? What if they moved Alex to another location?

I pulled over at the nearest gas station, my fingers fumbling as I dialed 911. The operator’s voice was calm and professional, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. I explained the situation as succinctly as I could, detailing the letter and Max’s involvement. The operator assured me that help was on the way and instructed me to wait for the police to arrive.