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THE MONEY TRAIL TEASER

CHAPTER ONE SAMPLE - HANGING ON

The tips of his fingers stung as if he’d just run them over a sheet of industrial-strength sandpaper. His muscular biceps spasmed and trembled as he used every sinew and ounce of energy to cling onto the face of the sheer slab of rock. The deltoid muscles of his shoulders screamed at him to release the untenable strain, but he couldn’t grant them the relief they craved. Easing his grip, even by a mere fraction, would lead to the inevitable consequence of falling. Perspiration poured from his deep-lined forehead and streamed into his eyes, stinging his retinas and blurring his vision. He blinked the saline away as best he could, refusing the will of an instinctive urge to release the rock with one hand so he could wipe his painful eyes clear.

Daniel Sawyer clung to the face of the thirty metre high gritstone rock of Bamford Edge. Which it did. He refused to let go as his life teetered on the brink, driven only by the primal desire to survive. An agonising grimace creased his stubbled and sweat-drenched features into deep furrows. He pressed the sore tips of his fingers into narrow fissures in the solid rock, formed millions of years ago by the grinding and gouging of ancient glaciers and inland seas.

He chanced a glance over his shoulder, catching what should have been a stunning vista: the shimmering surface of the Y-shaped Ladybower Reservoir nestling in its green, steep-sided valley.

He scarcely noticed Mother Nature’s best work. The rolling hills, broken by the distant peak of Kinder Scout, were the last thing on his mind. Taking care not to lose his fragile grip on the rock face, he shifted his weight once more, trying to ignore the searing pain in his fingertips. Simultaneously, he fought to overcome the trembling, aching muscles of his arms and shoulders.

He sucked in the sweet Peak District air, desperate for its energising oxygen to fill his lungs and invigorate his pounding heart to deliver the strength he needed around his body.

As he forced his already swollen and bloodied fingertips deeper into the narrow finger-holds, a razor-sharp splinter of rock tore his skin. Warm, fresh blood stained his fingertip red, soaking his fingerless climbing gloves.

Cursing under his breath, he wondered if he would ever get off this rock. Of course, there was the easy option. To let go, to allow himself to fall to the rocky ground far below. At least that would put an end to his abject misery and the excruciating muscular pain.

He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold on and try to find a foothold so that his much more powerful legs could take the strain from his trembling fingers. At last, the tip of his shoe wedged into a tiny indentation in the rock face and, though his knee was bent at an agonising obtuse angle, it provided some respite. His focus now turned to his other leg, which swung free as he tried to find another crevice suitable for his other shoe.

Time was expiring. Every nerve ending, each muscle and sinew across his upper torso twitched or shuddered as he pushed his body to its limit. He breathed hard, gasping for air.

He dared not look down to spot a suitable foothold, as he knew the sight of the ground would send his adrenaline off the scale and force him to let go. Instead, he toe-ended the wall, feeling with desperation for indentations in the sold rock. Then, there it was. Less a crevice and more just a concave curve in the rock, but it would have to do. His toe found enough grip to apply upward pressure, and finally, he positioned himself to restart his climb.

TO BE CONTINUED.

The Money Trail - Available Autumn 2026