Chapter 5 - Turning the Tide
The rain had lessened to a heavy drizzle by the time we reached the perimeter of Teterboro Airport. Private Hangar 4 sat near the dark edge of the airfield, illuminated only by perimeter floodlights and the flashing beacons of a Gulfstream G650 parked on the tarmac outside.
Through night-vision optics, Marcus's team observed two sleek black sedans parked inside the open hangar bay. Four men in dark tactical suits stood guard near the vehicles, while inside a heated glass office overlooking the floor, two figures were sitting across a table.
One was Victoria Vance—wearing an elegant mink coat, looking calm and victorious as she sipped espresso. The other was Julian Vance, Sterling’s ruthless chief counsel. On the table between them sat my stolen leather briefcase and the silver music box belonging to my daughter.
"Security is light," Marcus whispered from the front seat, adjusting his ear-piece. "Sterling's people didn't expect any opposition. They think you're still stranded in New Jersey crying over your ruined house."
"We move now," I said. "No guns unless they draw first. I want Victoria alive and coherent."
"Understood."
Marcus signaled his team. Four operatives slipped out of the SUV, moving silently through the shadows toward the side entrance of the hangar. I stepped out behind them, my long coat sweeping through the cold wind.
Inside the glass office, Victoria was laughing.
"It was almost too easy, Julian," her voice echoed through our intercepted audio feed. "Nathaniel was so blinded by grief he practically handed me the keys to his vault. All I had to do was wear soft dresses, play the comforting stepmother, and listen to him talk about his dead wife. A man driven by guilt is the easiest mark in the world."
Julian chuckled, opening a sleek metal laptop. "Well, Mr. Sterling is pleased. Once we verify these cryptographic keys, your offshore account receives the fifty million, and you can disappear to the Riviera."
Victoria reached into her coat and pulled out the master flash drive—the one containing the corrupted data. She held it up, watching the light bounce off the silver metal.
"To rich, foolish men," she said, raising her coffee cup.
"To foolish men indeed," a voice echoed through the hangar's public address system.
Victoria froze. Her coffee cup slipped from her manicured fingers, shattering onto the tiled floor.
Julian snapped his head up, looking toward the hangar floor.
Below them, the main hangar doors were slowly sliding shut, sealing the exit. My four security operatives stepped out from the shadows, sidearms drawn and held at low-ready.
And walking calmly down the central aisle toward the glass office, surrounded by the shadows of the massive aircraft, was me.
Victoria’s face drained of every ounce of color. The arrogance, the victory, the poise—all vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by pure, unadulterated terror.
"Nathaniel?" she whispered, her voice picked up by the room mic. "No... no, he was supposed to be in New Jersey... he didn't have transportation..."
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I stepped up the iron staircase leading to the glass office, my boots heavy against the metal steps. I pushed the door open, the sharp draft of cold air following me inside.
"Hello, Marianne," I said softly, looking her dead in the eyes. "Or should I call you Victoria?"
