Chapter 9 - SHOWDOWN AT THE HANGAR
The storm reached its terrifying peak as three unmarked black Ford Explorers roared across the rain-slicked tarmac of the Harrison Private Aviation terminal at O'Hare.
Blue and red lights flashed against the dark, wet pavement.
In the center of the lit tarmac sat a sleek white Gulfstream private jet, its jet engines whining loudly as they spooled up for takeoff. The mobile boarding stairs were still attached to the open side door of the aircraft.
At the base of the stairs stood Martha Harrison-Vane, flanked by two heavy-set security guards. She was staring at her glowing smartphone in utter disbelief, her face twisted in a mask of violent rage.
The emergency asset freeze had hit her accounts five minutes ago. Three hundred million dollars, rendered completely inaccessible.
"Block the nose gear!" Agent Vance shouted over the radio.
Our Explorers swerved around the front of the aircraft, cutting off its flight path. Federal agents spilled out of the doors, weapons drawn, flashlights cutting through the dark rain.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! GET ON THE GROUND!"
The two private security guards immediately threw their sidearms onto the wet tarmac and raised their hands in the air. They were mercenaries, not martyrs; they weren't going to take federal bullet charges for a disgraced socialite.
Martha didn't move. She stood at the base of the stairs, clutching her designer leather bag to her chest, her silver hair spilling out of its bun in the wind and rain.
I stepped out of the front passenger seat of Agent Vance’s Explorer, pulling my rain hood up.
Martha’s eyes locked onto mine across the tarmac. The hatred in her gaze was cold enough to freeze water.
"You," Martha hissed, her voice barely audible over the roar of the jet engines, but carried by the wind. "You pathetic, insignificant little girl. You destroyed everything. You ruined my family."
"You ruined yourself, Martha," I said, walking toward her flanked by two armed federal officers. "You threw your own son away like trash. You tried to steal my daughter's father from her."
"He was weak!" Martha screamed, her composure entirely shattered. "He didn't deserve the Harrison name! Neither do you!"
"Drop the phone and turn around, Mrs. Harrison-Vane," Agent Vance ordered, stepping forward with handcuffs outstretched. "You are under arrest for federal securities fraud, grand larceny, obstruction of justice, and kidnapping."
For a second, I thought Martha was going to fight. She looked at the open door of the jet, then at the ring of federal agents surrounding her, and finally at me. The realization that her money, her status, her power, and her control had vanished into thin air hit her all at once.
Her shoulders slumped. The arrogant, untouchable matriarch vanished, leaving behind nothing more than a bitter, defeated old woman.
She turned around slowly and placed her hands behind her back. The steel handcuffs clicked loudly into place over her wrists.
"Where is my husband?" I demanded, pushing past the agents to look up the stairs of the jet.
"Inside," one of the surrendering guards muttered, pointing toward the cabin. "He's bound in the back."
I ran up the metal stairs of the aircraft, my shoes slipping on the wet steps.
Inside the luxurious leather-lined cabin of the Gulfstream, tied to an arm-chair with heavy nylon flex-cuffs, was Alex. He had a deep bruise on his cheekbone, but his eyes were open, clear, and fixed on the cabin door.
When he saw me run through the entryway, tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes.
"Emily..." he whispered, his voice cracking.
I pulled a tactical knife from an agent's utility belt, dropped to my knees beside his chair, and sliced through the plastic cuffs.
Alex threw his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. He buried his face in my neck, sobbing silently as the heavy rain hammered against the small windows of the plane.
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"I'm sorry," he wept, shaking uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, Em. I should have trusted you. I should never have hidden."
"Shh," I whispered, holding the back of his head, feeling the warmth of his real, living breath against my skin—no longer a phantom behind dark wood, but my husband, back in the light. "It's over, Alex. It's finally over."
