Chapter 5 - The Landing at Gate 42
The Gulfstream G650 touched down on Runway 10-Right at O’Hare International Airport with a smooth, barely perceptible chirp of its rubber tires. The pilot applied the thrust reversers, and the seventy-million-dollar aircraft slowed rapidly, turning off the main runway onto a peripheral taxiway.
Gavin stood up, adjusted his silk tie in the mirror near the galley, and smoothed his hair. "Get your coat, Charlotte. We’re being met directly on the tarmac."
Charlotte adjusted her diamond earrings, pulled her designer trench coat over her shoulders, and picked up her leather handbag. "I hope they brought the long-wheelbase Maybach. My heels aren't made for walking on wet tarmac."
The jet rolled past the general aviation terminal—where private aircraft usually parked—and continued down a long, isolated taxiway toward the far northern perimeter of the airport, stopping finally near Gate 42, a remote cargo area surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with razor wire.
Gavin frowned, looking out the oval window.
There was no Maybach. There was no red carpet.
Instead, four black Ford Explorer utility vehicles with dark tinted glass and red-and-blue emergency LED strobes flashing behind their grilles were parked in a tight semi-circle around the spot where the stairs were supposed to deploy. Beside them stood six officers from the Chicago Police Department’s Special Investigations Division, flanked by three men in dark suits holding federal identification badges.
"What is this?" Charlotte asked, her voice losing its polished tone and rising into a sharp, nervous pitch. "Is there a security threat? Did someone report a bomb?"
"Calm down," Gavin snapped, though his own pulse had suddenly jumped to ninety beats per minute. "It’s probably just an upgraded security detail arranged by Crestview. With 3.2 billion dollars involved, they aren't taking any chances with high-profile targets."
The hydraulic door of the Gulfstream hissed open, folding down into a flight of teak-tread stairs that touched the wet asphalt.
Gavin stepped out first, adjusting his coat collar against the cold wind whipping across the tarmac. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he called down with his practiced executive smile. "I assume Mr. Croft sent you to escort us to the Willis Tower?"
A man in a dark grey suit stepped forward from behind the center police cruiser. He didn't smile. He pulled a black leather badge wallet from his pocket and held it out at chest height.
"Gavin Pierce?" the man asked. His voice was flat, amplified slightly by the open expanse of the runway.
"Yes, I am Gavin Pierce, CEO of SwiftFreight," Gavin said, taking two steps down the stairs. "And if this is about the motorcade clearance, my office already submitted the driver manifests—"
"Mr. Pierce," the agent interrupted, "I am Special Agent Thomas Drake with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Financial Crimes Division. I have an administrative warrant issued by the United States District Court for the Northern District of Illinois for your arrest, along with a seizure order for this aircraft and all electronic devices in your possession."
Gavin stopped on the third step down. His feet froze.
"This is an absurdity," Gavin stammered, his face flushing dark red. "Do you have any idea who I am? I am five minutes away from closing a three-billion-dollar transaction with Crestview Partners! Call Julian Croft right now! Call my legal counsel at Kirkland & Ellis!"
"Mr. Croft was the one who provided the initial evidentiary filing three hours ago, sir," Agent Drake said smoothly, nodding to the two uniform officers behind him. "And your legal counsel has already been served with three grand jury subpoenas at their Minneapolis office."
The two officers marched up the stairs, grabbed Gavin by his forearms, and pulled him down to the asphalt.
"Get your hands off me!" Gavin roared, twisting his body, his three-thousand-dollar suit jacket ripping slightly at the shoulder seam as they forced his arms behind his back. "Charlotte! Call Mason! Tell him to call the governor!"
Charlotte stepped out onto the top platform of the jet stairs, her face pale as a sheet, her mouth open in a silent scream.
As the steel handcuffs clicked around Gavin’s wrists, a dark blue Lincoln Town Car rolled smoothly past the police cruisers and came to a stop ten feet away.
The rear window scrolled down four inches.
Inside sat Director Arthur Vance, sipping a cup of hot coffee. Beside him sat my father’s former attorney, holding a pristine white envelope.
"Gavin," Director Vance said, looking over his spectacles at the struggling CEO.
"Vance?" Gavin gasped, his eyes wild with terror and confusion. "What... what is this? Did Sabrina's family do this? That pathetic little woman doesn't have the connections to pull a stunt like this!"
Director Vance pushed the door open, stepped out into the damp air, and leaned against the frame of the Lincoln.
"Sabrina didn't pull a stunt, Gavin," Vance said calmly. "She pulled an audit."
He pulled a small digital audio recorder from his pocket, pressed play, and held it out toward Gavin.
...five strikes over a car you couldn't even keep your hands off... sign today, or I'll bury you in lawsuits until you can't even afford rent... Gavin’s own voice blasted through the speaker, crisp, clear, and unmistakable against the noise of jet engines in the background.
Gavin’s knees buckled. He would have hit the wet asphalt if the two police officers hadn't been holding his shoulders.
"Where... where did you get that?" Gavin whispered, his voice cracking like glass under a hammer.
May you like
"Your wife leaves her regards," Director Vance said, taking a step back into the Lincoln. "And by the way, Gavin—Crestview didn't just cancel the 3.2 billion dollar investment. They’ve filed a emergency petition to seize SwiftFreight’s primary operating assets as collateral for the pre-closing due diligence costs."
The officers shoved Gavin into the back seat of the police cruiser, slamming the door shut with a loud, final BANG that echoed across the runway.
