Chapter 4 - WHY TODAY?
The cabin seemed to tilt.
The words did not process as sound; they hit my central nervous system like an electric shock.
*Richard.*
*The truck. The shredder. The midnight pacing. The smell of burned rubber.*
"No," I breathed, my fingers digging into the plush leather of the armrest. "No, Richard is... he’s an administrator. He manages shipping manifests. He doesn't—"
"He manages the manifest fraud for a criminal syndicate operating out of our Cleveland and Columbus depots," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He sat down in the seat across from me, his presence suffocating the small space. "For eighteen months, someone inside Thorne Maritime has been moving hundreds of millions of dollars of illicit cargo through our shipping containers. Narcotics, untaxed rare earths, laundered currency. Three weeks ago, Elena discovered the discrepancy."
A cold tremor rippled through my chest. Elena Thorne wasn't just a socialite or a billionaire’s wife.
"Elena was our Chief Compliance Officer," Julian explained, his jaw tight. "She was an attorney. She spent two months undercover in our Columbus terminal. She told me she had found the paper trail. She had the names of the port directors, the corrupt state inspectors, and the operational hub supervisor who was falsifying the weigh-station certificates."
Julian leaned forward, his face inches from mine. "She was driving those files to the United States Attorney’s Office in Cincinnati on Tuesday morning. She never made it past Exit 118."
*Tuesday morning.*
The puzzle pieces fell into place with the sickening finality of a guillotine blade dropping.
The frantic shredding at 4:30 AM.
The papers Richard was desperately feeding into the teeth of the machine weren't household bills. They were copies of the forged logs. He had known Elena was dead before the morning news even reported the crash. He had come home covered in sweat and grease because he had been at the dispatch yard, wiping the server backups.
And when Maya had tripped over the shredder cord...
She hadn't just spilled juice. She had interrupted him while he was destroying evidence of vehicular homicide.
"He didn't just shove her because he was angry," I whispered, the realization hitting me with dizzying, nauseating force. I looked down at Maya’s bandage, bile rising in the back of my throat. "He shoved her because she was standing between him and the electric chair."
"Yes," Julian said coldly.
Leo let out a tiny, contented burp against my breast, his mouth slackening as he slipped into a profound, milk-drunk sleep. I gently buttoned my shirt, cradling the infant against my shoulder, my mind spinning into freefall.
"Why are you on this plane, Mr. Thorne?" I asked, looking up into his hollow gray eyes. "If your wife was murdered in Ohio four days ago, why are you flying to Rome with a six-month-old infant?"
Julian’s gaze hardened. He glanced at Vance, who had pulled a satellite phone from his jacket and was tapping furiously on the keypad.
"Because the hit on Elena wasn't just an isolated panic move by your husband," Julian said. "It was ordered from the top. The syndicate doesn't just operate in Ohio; its European hub is in Naples. Thirty-six hours ago, our security team intercepted a transmission indicating that Leo was the next target. If Elena’s heir died, our family trust would trigger a mandatory corporate restructuring, handing voting control of Thorne Maritime over to our secondary board of directors—the very men funding the smuggling ring."
Julian leaned back, a bitter shadow washing over his face. "I had to extract Leo from the country under an assumed flight plan before they could reach him. I booked three decoy private jets to London, Zurich, and Dubai. Then Vance and I bought commercial tickets under false identities to Rome. From Rome, my private security vessel will meet us at Civitavecchia to take us to an offshore compound in international waters."
He looked at me—really looked at me. His eyes traced the bruised line of my neck, the fraying cuffs of my sweater, and Maya’s tiny, sleeping form.
"We were both running from the same fire, Sarah," Julian said quietly. "We just didn't know we were escaping on the same flight."
Suddenly, Vance’s phone buzzed with an urgent, pulsing chime. The security director stared at the small screen, his face draining of color.
"Mr. Thorne," Vance said, his voice strained. "We have a critical breach."
Julian turned sharply. "What is it?"
"The commercial manifest," Vance whispered, leaning down so only Julian and I could hear. "The Port Authority in Columbus just flagged two passengers on this flight. An international alert was broadcast across Interpol ten minutes ago."
My heart plummeted into an abyss. "What alert?" I choked out.
Vance looked at me with profound pity.
"Red Notice, ma'am," Vance said. "Filed by the Franklin County Sheriff's Department on behalf of Richard Mitchell. He reported that you suffered an acute psychotic break, stabbed him in the shoulder, and abducted his three-year-old daughter across state lines."
Vance swallowed hard, glancing at the cabin door.
May you like
"Italian Polizia di Frontiera are mobilizing at Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport right now. The moment our landing gear hits the tarmac in Rome, armed federal officers will board this aircraft to arrest you and seize Maya for extradition."
***
