Chapter 7 - The Runway at Bedford
The rain had begun to fall heavily by the time Detective Vance’s unmarked police sedan tore through the outer gates of Bedford Airfield, its blue dashboard lights flashing wildly against the slick asphalt.
In the distance, sitting on the floodlit tarmac near Hangar 4, a sleek white Gulfstream jet had its engines whining loudly, jet fuel exhaust shimmering in the freezing air.
A black SUV was parked beside the mobile boarding stairs.
"There she is!" Ethan yelled, pointing through the rain-streaked windshield.
Vance slammed on the brakes, skidding the police cruiser in an arc to block the front bumper of the black SUV. Two state trooper vehicles screeched to a halt right behind them, their sirens wailing into the stormy night.
Ethan threw his door open before the car had even completely stopped, leaping out into the driving rain.
"Margaret!" Ethan roared over the thunderous scream of the jet engines.
At the top of the mobile boarding stairs, wrapped in a fur coat, Margaret froze.
Her private security guard pulled a sidearm from his jacket, but Detective Vance and four state troopers instantly drew their weapons, shouting over the noise: "State Police! Drop the weapon! Get on the ground! Drop it now!"
The guard hesitated for a single second, looking at the four red laser sights painted on his chest, before dropping the gun onto the wet metal stairs and raising his hands into the air.
Margaret looked down at the police cars, then at her son standing in the freezing rain, his clothes soaked, his face twisted with a mixture of agony and righteous fury.
"Ethan!" Margaret shrieked over the roar of the engines, her voice frantic, her pristine hair blowing wild in the wind. "Ethan, tell them to put their guns down! They don't understand! I did everything for you! Everything was for the family!"
Ethan walked up to the base of the stairs. He didn't carry a gun. He didn't need one. His eyes held enough cold judgment to shatter her completely.
"The car crash, Margaret," Ethan said, his voice carrying clearly despite the storm. "You cut her brakes."
Margaret gasped, taking a step back, her back hitting the open door of the aircraft. "Ethan... I... it was an accident..."
"I heard the tapes," Ethan said, his voice breaking slightly. "I heard you pay the mechanic. I heard you order the paralytic drugs. I heard you talk about my wife as if she were a dog you could put down when she became inconvenient."
Margaret’s face crumpled. The regal, cold matriarch vanished, replaced by an desperate, pathetic old woman clinging to the railing of a plane that was never going to take off.
"She was taking you away from me!" Margaret sobbed, dropping to her knees on the metal stairs, her expensive coat soaking up the rain. "You were my son! I raised you after your father died! You were supposed to stay by my side and run the empire! She was soft! She was making you soft!"
"She didn't make me soft," Ethan said softly, stepping onto the first rung of the stairs. "She made me human. Something you never were."
Detective Vance walked up the stairs past Ethan, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his tactical belt.
"Margaret Marlowe," Vance said loudly, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, criminal conspiracy, illegal administration of controlled substances, and corporate extortion. You have the right to remain silent."
As the cold steel cuffs clicked shut around her wrists, Margaret let out a piercing, pathetic wail that was swallowed up by the pouring rain and the screaming jet engines.
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Ethan watched as they led his mother down the stairs in chains, pushing her into the back of a police cruiser. He didn't feel triumph. He didn't feel joy. He only felt an overwhelming, profound sadness for the years he had lost to a shadow.
He turned his back on the runway and walked toward the car to return to the only person who mattered.
