Chapter 4 - The Pursuit into the Storm
I didn't wait for the police to finish their bureaucracy.
I grabbed my jacket, rushed down to the parking garage, and threw myself into my SUV. Rain was pouring in sheets across the city, the sky a dark, bruised purple as dawn struggled to break. I called my best friend, Marcus Reed, a former military investigator who now worked as a private security consultant.
"Marcus," I said as soon as he picked up. "I need you. My mother just kidnapped my newborn twins from the hospital. She's heading for the regional airfield to fly to the Maine estate."
"What?" Marcus’s voice went instantly flat and focused. "Ethan, slow down. Are you sure?"
"Yes! She's got an private medical transport. She's trying to steal my son and abandon my daughter. I'm driving to the airfield now, but I need you to track her tail number and call every favor you have with air traffic control."
"Consider it done," Marcus said without hesitation. "I'm heading toward the airfield now. Don't do anything stupid until I get there, Ethan. Evelyn has armed security on her payroll."
"I don't care who she has," I snarled, pushing the accelerator to the floor. "She took my children."
The drive to the airfield was a blur of hydroplaning tires and flashing red lights. By the time I crashed through the gates of the private aviation terminal, the storm had intensified into a full-blown gale. High winds beat against the glass facade of the hangar, and lightning ripped across the clouds.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, I saw a sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream idling on the tarmac. A black van was parked next to the airstairs.
I slammed my SUV into park, threw open the door, and charged out into the freezing rain.
"Evelyn!" I screamed over the roar of the jet engines.
Two men in dark suits stepped out from behind the van, their hands moving inside their jackets. "Sir, stop right there! This is a private flight!"
"Get out of my way!" I shoved past the first guard, fueled by adrenaline. He grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back, but I slammed my elbow into his nose. He staggered back, bleeding, as the second guard drew a taser.
Before he could fire, a black pickup truck swerved onto the tarmac, splashing rainwater everywhere, and clipped the second guard, sending him sprawling across the wet asphalt. Marcus threw his door open and stepped out, holding a tactical flashlight and a firm, commanding presence.
"Go, Ethan! Get on that plane!" Marcus shouted, tackling the first guard to the ground.
I sprinted up the airstairs of the jet just as the cabin door was beginning to close. I threw my weight against the door, forcing it open, and fell into the cabin.
Inside, sitting in a leather captain's chair, was my mother. Beside her were two portable neonatal incubators, their digital monitors humming softly.
Evelyn didn't flinch. She adjusted her pearl necklace and looked down at me with cold, disappointed eyes.
"You always were impetuous, Ethan," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "Just like your father. You never possessed the stomach for what it takes to protect this family."
"They're my children, Evelyn!" I yelled, struggling to my feet, my clothes drenched, my chest heaving. "You kidnapped them from the hospital! You blackmailed my wife! You ordered a doctor to commit a medical crime!"
"I saved this family from extinction!" Evelyn barked, her voice snapping like a whip. "Your wife produced one weak, female embryo. One! Do you know what Julian Vance would have done to us? He would have liquidated Bennett Global within six months! He would have stripped your father's life work to the bone!"
"I don't care about the money!" I screamed, stepping toward the incubators. "I care about my family! I care about my son and my daughter!"
"Son?" Evelyn laughed coldly. "You don't even know if that boy is yours! I had Julian's genetic material mixed with your father's vault samples. That boy sitting in that box could be your half-brother or your nephew! He is the legal linchpin to fifty billion dollars, Ethan! He belongs to the trust!"
"He belongs to ME!"
I lunged forward, but a voice behind me stopped me in my tracks.
May you like
"I wouldn't move another step, nephew."
I turned slowly. Emerging from the rear bathroom of the jet was Julian Vance. He was fifty years old, slicked-back hair, wearing a tailored suit, holding a small silver pistol aimed directly at my chest.
