Chapter 13 - Forty Minutes
Hannah organized a roadblock while Adrian sat in the back of an unmarked car, watching rain strike the windows.
“You don't have to come,” she told him.
“Yes, I do.”
At Airfield 9, a private jet idled under floodlights. Marcus stood beside a black SUV, speaking into his phone. Malcolm Sloane held a briefcase. Between them, two guards pushed a wheelchair toward the plane.
Evelyn sat in it.
Adrian opened the car door before Hannah could stop him.
“Evelyn!”
Her head snapped toward his voice. For one heartbeat they looked at each other across the wet concrete.
Then Marcus pulled a gun.
“Get back!” Hannah shouted.
Adrian froze. Marcus aimed not at him, but at the wheelchair.
Rain blurred the airfield lights into long gold streaks. Hannah explained the plan in clipped sentences: officers at both exits, a medic waiting behind the hangar, nobody moving until they confirmed Evelyn's location. Adrian nodded, but his fingers kept opening and closing around the photograph Rosa had given him.
He remembered meeting Evelyn at a crowded charity auction. She had told him his speech was boring, then stayed to argue about how the money should be spent. He'd fallen in love with her refusal to flatter him. Later, when Sophie was born, Evelyn had made him promise that their daughter would never grow up believing rich people were automatically good people. He had laughed and agreed. Now that promise felt like a test he was failing in public.
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Hannah gripped his sleeve. 'Wait for my signal.' Adrian tried. He lasted until Evelyn lifted her head and looked toward the police cars. Their eyes met through the rain. The whole world narrowed to that single impossible moment. Adrian moved before he realized he was moving. Then Marcus drew a gun, and every officer on the tarmac shouted at once.
“Another step,” Marcus said, “and she doesn't leave here alive.”
