Chapter 4 - THE HUNT ON INTERSTATE 95The thunderstorm raged outside as three unmarked federal vehicles tore down Interstate 95, sirens blaring and lights flashing through the torrents of rain.
I was sitting in the back seat of Detective Vance’s SUV, monitoring the live telemetry on my laptop screen while the SEC lead investigator sat beside me.
“He’s accelerating,” I said, pointing to the red dot moving at 95 miles per hour on the digital map. “He’s three miles away from the private charter terminal at Wilmington Regional.”
“State police have set up a roadblock at Exit 14,” Detective Vance reported over the radio. “He won't make it to the runway.”
“You don’t know Arthur,” I warned, my knuckles white as I gripped the armrest. “He’s a narcissist who believes rules are for ordinary people. He won’t stop for a roadblock.”
Just as I said it, the radio crackled with static and high-pitched screams over the police frequency.
“Control, this is Unit 12! Suspect vehicle bypassed the spike strips by driving onto the median! He hit a patrol car! Repeat, suspect is armed and driving dangerously on the tarmac!”
“Dammit!” Vance slammed his hand against the steering wheel, accelerating the SUV through the torrential downpour.
Minutes later, we burst through the shattered security gate of the Wilmington Regional Airport. The blue light of police cruisers illuminated the dark, wet tarmac.
A small Gulfstream private jet was idling near the hangar, its engines screaming as it prepped for emergency takeoff. Sitting right in front of the jet’s wing was Arthur’s massive SUV, its front bumper crushed, smoking heavily from the radiator.
Arthur was stepping out of the vehicle, wearing a trench coat, holding a heavy leather briefcase in one hand and a small black handgun in the other.
“Arthur Vance! Drop the weapon!” Detective Vance shouted through his megaphone as our vehicle skidded to a halt forty feet away, blocking his path to the jet’s staircase.
Arthur looked around frantically. Surrounded by six police cruisers, spotlights pinning him like a wild animal caught in a trap, he looked nothing like the refined, arrogant patriarch who had watched me bleed on his kitchen floor while folding his arms.
His eyes scanned the perimeter until they landed on me as I stepped out of the police vehicle.
“Elena?!” he roared over the jet engines’ deafening noise. “You ungrateful, miserable little bitch! I gave you a family! I gave you a name!”
“You gave me poison and broken ribs, Arthur!” I yelled back, my voice amplified by the wind and rain. “Put the gun down! It’s over!”
“It will never be over!” Arthur screamed, pointing the gun directly at my head. “You were supposed to be nothing! A quiet girl with a paycheck we could drain! You ruined my son! You ruined my life!”
“You ruined yourself,” I replied coldly. “Check your phone, Arthur.”
He blinked, his hand trembling as he held the gun aimed at my chest. “What?”
“Check your offshore account balance,” I said, stepping forward, ignoring Vance’s command to stay behind the door. “Did you really think I didn’t notice you using my cryptographic key at midnight? I didn’t just track your car, Arthur. I rerouted the transfer protocols.”
Arthur’s face morphed from rage to absolute horror. With his trembling left hand, he pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen wildly.
“The fifty million dollars isn’t in your Cayman account,” I said softly, my voice carrying over the rain. “I mirrored the transaction and routed it directly into the Federal Asset Forfeiture Holding Escrow. You didn’t steal fifty million dollars... you just confessed to federal wire fraud on a live government ledger.”
Arthur looked at his phone screen. $0.00 balance.
The briefcase slipped from his hand, crashing into the wet tarmac, bursting open to reveal stacks of useless, voided foreign certificates.
He lowered his gun slowly, his knees buckling under the weight of his total failure.
“Drop the weapon!” officers swarmed forward, tackling Arthur to the wet ground, forcing his face into the muddy puddle as handcuffs clicked around his wrists.
As they hauled him up, Arthur looked at me, weeping hysterically, the illusion of his absolute power completely shattered.
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I stepped closer, looking down at the man who had treated me like an inconvenience on his floor.
“Dinner’s over, Arthur,” I whispered.
