Chapter 6 - The Chase on the Tarmac
The rain began to fall in heavy, lashing sheets as our unmarked cruiser raced down the wet highway toward the Northfield private airfield. The red and blue lights flashed against the dark sky, casting frantic geometric patterns across the dashboard.
My phone buzzed constantly—corporate boards demanding updates, lawyers advising damage control, and Detective Miller coordinating roadblocks with the state police. But none of it mattered. The only thing driving me forward was the absolute necessity of closure.
“We have visual on the target vehicle,” Miller’s radio crackled. “A black Mercedes sedan breaching the security gate at Northfield North hangar. Move in.”
Our car surged through the shattered remains of the security gate, tires screaming against the slick asphalt of the runway. Through the sheets of rain, I saw it: a sleek white private jet idling on the tarmac, its turbine engines whining with deafening intensity, the boarding stairs still lowered.
Parked right beside the stairs was Emily’s Mercedes.
Our cruiser slammed to a halt, blocking the sedan's exit path. Doors flew open. Officers poured out with tactical gear drawn, shouting commands into the wind.
Emily scrambled out of the driver's side of the Mercedes, her hair whipped by the jet wash, clutching a heavy leather briefcase to her chest. She took two steps toward the plane's open hatch before freezing, blinded by the strobing headlights of three police cruisers.
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I stepped out of the car, the rain instantly soaking through my suit.
“It’s over, Emily,” I called out, my voice cutting through the roar of the jet engines.
