The curtain ripped open with a violent screech of metal rings, rattling the IV pole and making Emily flinch so hard her monitor spiked.

A sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream private jet sat idling on the runway, its turbine engines whining at high pitch as it prepared for taxi clearance.

"This is Federal Agent Vance! Cut your engines immediately and lower your cabin stairs!" Vance shouted into a high-powered loud-hailer, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind and rain.

Two tactical SUVs slewed sideways across the wet asphalt, blocking the aircraft's path, while armed agents fanned out with tactical shields raised.

Inside the cockpit, the pilot threw up his hands in surrender, immediately cutting power to the turbines. A moment later, the hydraulic door of the aircraft hissed open, and Arthur Pendelton stepped out onto the top metal stair, shielding his eyes against the driving rain and blinding police lights.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" Pendelton yelled down, adjusting his wet suit jacket with an air of aristocratic indignation. "I am a legal representative of international corporate entities! You have no jurisdiction to detain—"

"Step down with your hands where we can see them, Mr. Pendelton," Vance interrupted, climbing the stairs with two armed agents right behind him. "You are under arrest for international money laundering, obstruction of justice, and acting as an unindicted co-conspirator in a federal racketeering enterprise."

Pendelton’s arrogant expression faltered. As the heavy steel handcuffs snapped around his wrists, a leather briefcase slipped from his grip, tumbling down the metal stairs and bursting open on the wet tarmac.