Chapter 7 - The Teterboro Intercept
""Megan, stay with Lucy here. Lock the gates,"" I said, pulling my car keys from the counter.
""David, don't go alone!"" Megan urged, grabbing my arm. ""The feds are on their way to Teterboro. Let law enforcement handle her!""
""She has Lucy’s passport, Claire's original trust documents, and my family’s heirloom jewelry in her trunk,"" I replied, my eyes cold and determined. ""And I want her to look me in the eye when she realizes she has lost everything.""
Rebecca grabbed her coat. ""I'm coming with you. As your legal counsel, I ensure everything done at that hangar is ironclad evidence.""
We sprinted through the pouring rain to my SUV. The engine roared to life, and I accelerated down the driveway, the tires gripping the slick asphalt as we tore toward the highway leading to New Jersey.
The drive to Teterboro Airport was a blur of flashing wipers, gray mist, and tense telephone updates. Federal marshals had already been dispatched, but with midday traffic snarled across the George Washington Bridge, they were still fifteen minutes out. Evelyn’s charter jet—a Bombardier Challenger registered to an offshore shell company—was currently on the tarmac, engines idling, waiting for final clearance from air traffic control.
I pulled into the private terminal at Teterboro, bypassed the executive valet, and parked directly beside the security gate leading onto the apron.
The security guard stepped out of his booth, waving his arms in protest. ""Sir, this is an active airfield! You cannot park here!""
Rebecca jumped out of the passenger seat, thrusting a certified court injunction and federal case filing directly against the guard’s glass window. ""This airfield is currently an active crime scene under investigation by the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security! That aircraft on Hangar 4 tarmac is harboring a fleeing felon attempting cross-border asset flight! If you open that gate for that jet to taxi, you are personally liable for felony obstruction of justice!""
The guard’s jaw dropped. He looked at the legal seal, then grabbed his radio, shouting orders to ground control to hold all departures from Hangar 4.
I walked through the pedestrian turnstile onto the wet concrete of the tarmac. Fifty yards away, parked near the hangar, was Evelyn’s black luxury sedan, its trunk open. A private jet sat with its boarding stairs lowered, turbine engines screaming as they spun up to idle.
Evelyn was standing at the base of the stairs, clutching a leather travel bag, screaming at the flight crew who had suddenly cut the boarding process on orders from the control tower.
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""What do you mean we are held?"" she shrieked over the roar of the jet engines. ""I paid fifty thousand dollars in cash for this charter! Open the door!""
""You're not going anywhere, Evelyn,"" my voice cut through the damp air behind her.
