Chapter 16 - THE HUNT IN OHIOForty-eight hours after leaving the federal detention facility, our private Gulfstream touched down in Columbus, Ohio under the cover of a freezing, grey twilight.
Julian, Mason, and I stepped off the tarmac straight into a sleek, black-tinted SUV waiting on the private runway.
"Our tracking team located her digital footprint ten minutes ago," Julian announced, tapping away at the screen of his secured tablet while sitting across from me in the leather-lined cabin. "Sloane is currently living in a cramped two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Columbus, working forty hours a week at a regional real estate firm, and spending her weekends trying to sell designer handbags on online marketplaces."
"Is she wearing the ring?" I asked, looking out the rain-streaked window at the dull, industrial Ohio landscape flashing past.
"According to our local surveillance sweep, yes," Julian replied, pulling up a high-resolution photo captured by a drone camera hovering three blocks from her apartment building. "She wears it on her right ring finger every single day. She probably thinks it’s worth ten grand. She has zero clue that it’s currently valued at over two hundred million dollars in frozen European assets."
Mason crossed his arms, letting out a cold, humorless chuckle. "Poetic, isn't it? She spent months trying to steal Preston away from Eleanor for his status and his money, and the only thing of actual value she managed to walk away with was a wedding ring she thought was just costume jewelry."
"The problem isn't just Sloane," I said, my voice steady as I turned to look at Julian. "If the Vanguard syndicate tracked the encryption trail to Preston, they’ve already tracked it to the ring's last known location. They know she’s in Ohio."
Julian's expression darkened. "My tactical team is already three blocks ahead of us. We secure the ring, secure Sloane before the syndicate hit squads find her, and neutralize any threats."
"And if she refuses to hand it over?" Mason asked casually.
"She won't have a choice," I said, my voice carrying the absolute, unyielding weight of a Hartwell who was done playing games. "This isn't about Preston anymore. This is about family security."
Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled silently to a halt outside a rundown, three-story brick apartment complex surrounded by leafless oak trees and flickering streetlamps.
Two tactical operatives dressed in plain black jackets stepped out from the shadows, nodding silently to Julian as we stepped out into the freezing drizzle.
"Target is on the second floor. Apartment 204," one of the operatives reported quietly into his earpiece. "No unusual movement yet. But we picked up two unknown individuals casing the alleyway behind the building ten minutes ago."
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The syndicate was already here.
"Move," Julian ordered sharply.
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