Chapter 6 - The Trap Springs
Vance and his tactical team returned fire instantly, sweeping toward the catwalks overhead where a lone figure in a dark trench coat was scrambling toward a rooftop exit hatch.
"Cover me!" Julian ordered, rolling to his feet and grabbing an assault rifle from one of the operatives.
"Julian, no!" Hannah cried, pressing herself flat against the base of the server rack as the staccato rhythm of gunfire reverberated off the metal walls.
Julian ignored the warning, sprinting up the metal spiral staircase toward the catwalks. The gunman on the upper level fired three more erratic shots before his weapon jammed. Julian vaulted over the railing, tackling the fleeing figure to the grated steel floor.
The trench coat hood slipped back, revealing a sweating, desperate face—not Conrad, but Michael Vance, the head of the corporate legal compliance team who had worked directly under Sloane Avery.
"It's over, Michael," Julian said, pressing the barrel of his rifle against the lawyer's shoulder. "Who gave the order to fire? Was it Conrad?"
Michael gasped for air, laughing hysterically beneath Julian's boot. "You think Conrad is the mastermind? Conrad is an idiot who spends his time at country clubs. Sloane... Sloane set all of this in motion weeks ago. She knew your father was changing his will. She knew Arthur was investigating the offshore accounts."
"Where is Sloane?" Julian demanded, pressing down harder.
"She’s... she’s already at the private airstrip in Teterboro," Michael wheezed. "She has a Gulfstream fueled and ready for Zurich. She’s taking every last dollar of the contingency funds with her."
Down below on the warehouse floor, Hannah rushed over as Vance secured the captive lawyer. She grabbed Julian’s arm, her face pale. "Did you hear what he said? She's running."
Julian dropped the rifle into Vance's hands and pulled Hannah close, his eyes hard as flint. "Not if we get to Teterboro first."
They didn't wait for the convoy to regroup. Julian dragged Hannah to his personal SUV parked outside, roaring away from the warehouse with sirens wailing in the distance as local police finally responded to the gunfire reports.
As they sped through the rain-slicked West Side Highway toward the Lincoln Tunnel, Julian made a single phone call to the director of aviation authority.
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"This is Julian Blackthorne. I am authorizing an immediate grounding order for all unregistered or pending international departures out of Teterboro Airport, effective immediately. Scramble the port authority interceptors if necessary."
A crisp voice replied over the secure line, "Understood, Mr. Blackthorne. Grounding order confirmed."
