Chapter 4 - The Runway at Midnight
The black Maybach tore through the rainy streets of Queens, weaving through late-night highway traffic with reckless disregard for speed limits. Inside the leather interior, Nathaniel leaned forward against the front console, his knuckles white, his chest heaving with every ragged breath.
""Faster, Graham! Drive faster!"" he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic.
""I'm doing ninety-five, sir! The roads are slick from the rain,"" Graham yelled back over the sound of screaming wipers. ""The air traffic desk says Flight 804 was scheduled for pushback at twelve-fifty! We have six minutes!""
Nathaniel stared through the rain-streaked windshield, his mind spinning violently through the past three years. He had convinced himself that Caroline would always be there. She was the steady, serene anchor in his chaotic life, the one person whose quiet loyalty he took entirely for granted. He had told himself that providing her with an unlimited black credit card, diamond earrings, and a penthouse overlooking Central Park was enough. He had rationalized his affair with Brooke as an old passion he couldn't quite extinguish, promising himself he would manage both worlds without consequences.
He never thought she would actually walk away. He never imagined that Caroline, with her quiet elegance and gentle manners, possessed the ruthless courage to pull the pin on his entire existence and walk away without even demanding an explanation.
""Call her!"" Nathaniel ordered, dialing her number frantically. ""Keep calling her!""
“The cellular customer you are trying to reach has disconnected this line or is currently unavailable.”
The automated message repeated over and over, an indifferent metallic voice mocking his desperation. She had already discarded her SIM card. She had wiped him out of her digital reality completely.
By the time the sedan screeched to a halt outside the private terminal at JFK, burning rubber against wet concrete, Nathaniel was already throwing open the passenger door. He sprinted through the automatic sliding doors, his tailored coat soaked with rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, looking like a madman rather than a billionaire executive.
""Caroline Mercer!"" he shouted at the startled security attendants at the VIP gate. ""Where is the Paris flight? Caroline!""
""Sir, you cannot pass this security perimeter without an active boarding pass,"" an officer warned, stepping firmly into his path with hands outstretched.
""I am Nathaniel Mercer! That is my wife on that plane!"" he yelled, his voice echoing frantically across the high ceilings of the empty terminal. ""Hold the aircraft! Do you hear me? Call the control tower and tell them to abort takeoff!""
""Sir, step back immediately,"" the officer commanded, reaching for his radio.
Nathaniel shoved his way past the barricade toward the massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the private tarmac. Outside, through the driving rain, he saw the sleek silhouette of the twin-engine jet rolling smoothly down the taxiway. Its wingtip lights blinked slowly—red, white, red—as it turned toward the primary runway.
May you like
He slammed his open palms against the thick glass, watching helplessly as the aircraft gathered speed against the slick asphalt. The engines roared with a deep, deafening vibration that rattled the windowpanes. Within seconds, the jet lifted gracefully into the dark sky, disappearing into the heavy clouds over the Atlantic Ocean.
She was gone. She was thousands of feet above the earth, heading toward another continent, leaving him alone in the wreckage of his own arrogance.
