Chapter 7 - The Teterboro TrapThe private airstrip at Teterboro was slick with freezing rain, the tarmac reflecting the harsh glare of floodlights like a sheet of black glass. A sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream sat idling on the runway, its turbine engines whining a high-pitched scream against the wind.
Gerald Sterling hurried across the wet tarmac, clutching a leather briefcase to his chest, his expensive cashmere overcoat flapping wildly around his knees. Behind him walked two burly private security guards carrying heavy duffel bags filled with bearer bonds and smuggled cash.
"Faster!" Gerald hissed, shivering as the freezing rain lashed across his face. "If the federal marshals are even five minutes behind us, we're finished."
He reached the base of the aircraft's folding staircase and grabbed the metal handrail.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The deep, concussive thrum of heavy rotor blades suddenly roared overhead, cutting through the whine of the jet engines.
Gerald froze, his foot poised on the second step. He looked up, shielding his eyes against the blinding wind kicked up by a descending aircraft.
A matte-black Sikorsky helicopter bearing the Hail Global insignia dropped out of the stormy sky with terrifying precision, slamming down onto the open tarmac twenty yards from the Gulfstream, blocking its path to the runway.
The cabin door of the helicopter blew open before the landing gear had even settled.
Victor Hail stepped down onto the wet asphalt.
He didn't wear a coat. The freezing rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and his charcoal suit was soaked through, but he moved with the unstoppable momentum of an avalanche. Behind him, Marcus and four armed tactical security operatives disembarked in silence, their weapons held at low-ready.
"Mr. Hail!" Gerald gasped, stumbling backward off the aircraft steps, his face twisting in panic. "You... you can't be here! This is private property! Security!"
The two private guards accompanying Gerald instinctively reached for their holsters.
Marcus didn't hesitate. With practiced, lightning-fast precision, he raised his firearm and discharged a single warning shot into the wet tarmac between the guards' feet. Sparks showered into the puddles.
"Put your hands on your head," Marcus commanded, his voice cold as steel. "Do it now or the next one goes through your kneecaps."
The guards slowly raised their hands, dropping their weapons into the slush.
Gerald fell to his knees in the freezing mud, his expensive cashmere coat soaking up black oil and rainwater. "Victor... listen to me. We can make a deal. Fifty-fifty split of the offshore accounts. You didn't care about the foundation anyway! You were too busy mourning your wife!"
Victor walked slowly across the tarmac, his leather shoes splashing through the puddles. He stopped two feet in front of the trembling, broken executive.
"My wife and daughter died because men like you built a world where human lives are just numbers on a balance sheet," Victor said softly. He reached down, grabbed Gerald by the expensive lapels of his ruined coat, and hoisted him up until their faces were inches apart.
"Where is she?" Victor whispered.
"Who?" Gerald whimpered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. "I don't—"
"Maya’s mother. Elena Vance. The woman your brother-in-law had abducted and hidden away after she signed the non-disclosure agreement."
Gerald’s eyes widened in sheer terror. He realized then that there was no escape, no corporate loophole, no bribe big enough to save him.
"She’s... she’s at the old sanitarium facility on Blackwood Island," Gerald gasped out, sobbing. "Senator Vance’s private property. She’s locked in the basement medical ward. She... she wouldn't stay quiet about the land deeds, so they put her under psychiatric sedation!"
Victor dropped Gerald back into the mud like a piece of garbage. He turned to Marcus.
"Lock him in the jet. Hand him over to the federal prosecutor with the full audit ledger."
"And Blackwood Island, sir?" Marcus asked, cocking his weapon.
May you like
Victor looked up at the stormy sky, his eyes burning with cold fire.
"Get the helicopter ready. We're going to pick up a mother."
