Chapter 7: Intercepting The Flight
The tarmac at the private airfield gleamed slick and black under the harsh glare of halogen floodlights, reflecting the steady drizzle that had turned the surrounding hills into a blur of dark green and gray. Marcus Vance had tracked Victoria’s black limousine using a toll-road transponder tag, intercepting the vehicle just three miles short of the hangar where a twin-engine Gulfstream was idling with its turbines whining a high-pitched, impatient tune. I stood beside the idling passenger door of Marcus’s unmarked SUV, my breath pluming in the cold night air as local county deputies pulled their patrol cruisers across the perimeter access road, blocking the jet's path to the runway.
Victoria’s limousine door clicked open, and she stepped out into the rain, her tailored purple wool coat sweeping the wet concrete. Despite the hour and the inevitable cornering of her empire, her posture remained rigid, her silver-streaked hair pinned into an immaculate chignon that defied the damp wind. She didn't look like a woman running away in disgrace; she looked like an aristocrat inspecting a minor landscaping error on her estate.
“Julian,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the whine of the jet engines with a chilling composure. “Have you completely lost your mind? Sending armed deputies to stop a private business flight? My attorneys will have every badge on this tarmac stripped by sunrise.”
“Your attorneys are currently clearing out their desks at the foundation, Victoria,” I said, walking slowly toward her across the tarmac, my hands buried deep in my overcoat pockets. “The judge signed the bench warrant for corporate fraud and falsification of vital records twenty minutes ago. You aren’t flying to Geneva. You’re going downtown to answer for a child you abandoned in an attic.”
A flicker of genuine panic crossed her eyes, though she masked it instantly with a thin, brittle smile that didn’t reach her mouth. “That child was a liability, Julian. A broken branch on a tree that needed pruning to protect our family’s standing in the community. You should be thanking me for sparing you the scandal of raising a damaged, hysterical girl who only ever brought bad blood into your home.”
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“She is my flesh and blood,” I shouted over the rising shriek of the jet turbines, the restraint I had maintained for weeks finally fraying at the edges. “And she is a thousand times more human than you will ever be!”
Before Victoria could answer, two deputies stepped forward, their flashlights cutting bright beams through the mist as they placed cold steel cuffs around her wrists. She didn’t struggle; she simply straightened her lapels, cast one last venomous glance in my direction, and allowed herself to be guided toward the back of the cruiser. I watched the tail lights of the patrol car disappear down the access road, feeling a cold, heavy stone lift from my chest, knowing the dark chapter was finally closing.
