Chapter 4 - The Phantom Protocol
The shock in the boardroom fractured into absolute chaos within three seconds. Half the directors stood up, stammering questions, while Richard gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned bone-white, fighting desperately to regain his composure.
"Amelia... thank God," Richard choked out, forcing a trembling, breathless laugh as he rushed around the table, arms open wide. "An absolute miracle! The Coast Guard said... they couldn't find you! I've been half-mad with grief!"
He moved in for an embrace, a masterclass in gaslighting and immediate damage control.
I didn't flinch, nor did I step back. Instead, I raised my right hand, holding up a small, sleek titanium device—a portable master console linked directly to the corporate security grid.
"Stop right there, Richard," I said softly.
He froze inches from me, his eyes darting frantically to mine, searching for any sign of weakness. He found none.
"Security," I commanded aloud.
The boardroom doors opened again, but this time, it wasn't my private detail. It was federal agents from the U.S. Department of Justice alongside the regional cyber-crimes division, flanked by armed federal marshals.
"Richard Hayes," Agent Vance (no relation to my lawyer) announced crisply, stepping forward and pulling out a pair of steel cuffs. "You are under arrest for attempted first-degree murder, conspiracy, and financial fraud against Hayes Global."
Richard’s face contorted from shock into a mask of pure, venomous fury. He whipped around to face the federal agents, his voice rising in panic. "This is insane! A malicious accusation by a distressed woman! Where is your warrant? Where is the physical evidence? There is no body, there is no weapon—"
"There is an audio confession, a flight telemetry log showing manual cabin door override originating from your pilot console, and a complete financial trail proving you liquidated three offshore accounts to pay for a professional hitman in case the push didn't finish the job," I interrupted calmly.
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I walked past him, taking his former seat at the head of the table. I smoothed down my skirt and looked up at my husband as the cuffs clicked tightly around his wrists.
"Did you really think," I murmured, "that a man who asks about my trusts more often than my heartbeat was smart enough to outplay me?"
