Chapter 7 - The Final Chessboard
The private runway at Teterboro Airport was swept by freezing rain and the harsh glare of floodlights.
A sleek Gulfstream G650 sat idling at the far end of the tarmac, its turbine engines screaming against the wind, ready to lift off into the grey New Jersey sky.
My black SUV smashed through the perimeter security gate, sliding across the wet asphalt before cutting off the taxiway directly in front of the jet’s nose cone.
The pilot slammed on the brakes, the aircraft’s massive tires kicking up a wall of water as it ground to a halt.
I stepped out of the vehicle into the gale, my coat whipping around my legs, my pistol drawn. Wesley flanked my right side, rifle raised.
The cabin door of the Gulfstream hissed open, and a metal staircase descended. Marcus Vance appeared at the top, wearing an expensive trench coat, looking down with a briefcase gripped tightly in his hands. Behind him stood two Ashford enforcers.
“Garrett!” Marcus shouted over the roar of the jet engines, his voice thin and desperate. “Don't do anything foolish! You can't fight the entire board!”
“You sold out your own family for Ashford blood money, Marcus?” I yelled back, walking slowly toward the stairs.
“Your mother was leading this family into the dark ages!” Marcus shouted, his face twisting with bitter justification. “The Hail empire needed fresh blood, modern alliances! Coraline and Victor offered a united front that would rule the entire East Coast without bloodshed! You threw it all away for a stray!”
I didn't waste breath arguing. I raised my pistol and fired a single warning shot into the jet’s nose cone, just inches from the cockpit window.
The pilot threw his hands up in surrender, shutting down the turbines. The deafening roar faded to a low, whining hum.
“Drop the briefcase, Marcus, and come down the steps with your hands where I can see them,” I commanded.
The two Ashford enforcers drew their weapons, stepping in front of Marcus.
“Kill him!” Marcus screamed, panicking.
They never had a chance. Wesley fired twice from the hip, sending both enforcers tumbling down the metal stairs into the puddles below.
Marcus froze, dropping the briefcase as if it had turned to red-hot iron. He raised his trembling hands high above his head, backing down the stairs until his shoes hit the wet tarmac.
“Garrett... please,” Marcus whimpered, falling to his knees in the mud. “I have a family. I did it for my children—”
“Your children didn't betray my blood,” I said, walking up to him and pressing the cold barrel of my gun against his temple.
For a terrifying second, the silence of the runway was absolute. I could pull the trigger, and the world would keep spinning. But as I looked down at the trembling man who had stolen years of trust, I realized something.
Killing him wouldn't fix what was broken. Exposing him would.
I lowered the gun, grabbing him by the collar of his trench coat and hauling him to his feet.
“You’re going to unlock those offshore accounts and transfer every single cent back to the primary Hail treasury,” I whispered into his ear. “Then you’re going to walk into federal court tomorrow morning, plead guilty to racketeering and embezzlement, and spend the next thirty years meditating on loyalty.”
May you like
Marcus sobbed, nodding frantically.
“Wesley, lock him in the back of the van,” I ordered. “And send the encrypted financial ledger directly to the Department of Justice task force. Let’s see how Victor Ashford launders money from inside a federal penitentiary.”
