Chapter 12 - The Interception
"He’s using her as his ultimate leverage," Martin said, slamming his hand onto the viewing table. "If he moves her to Costa Rica outside of extradition jurisdiction, he controls the legal rights to the remainder of Thomas Vance’s offshore estate—an estimated twelve million dollars in unliquidated Swiss bearer bonds!"
"We have to stop that transport," I said, my voice hardening from sorrow into absolute, unwavering fury.
"The flight is scheduled to depart from Zurich International Airport at 6:00 PM local time," Sloane said, checking her phone. "That’s forty minutes from now! Martin, can your European contacts alert Swiss federal border police?"
"I'm already drafting the emergency injunction," Martin said, rushing toward the bank lobby with his phone pressed to his ear. "If we flag the conservatorship as fraudulent, Swiss customs will ground the aircraft on the tarmac!"
We sped back to the legal offices, monitoring the international flight tracking logs in breathless suspense. On the screen, the private charter flight—tail number N482VX—was shown taxiing toward runway three at Zurich Airport.
"Come on, Martin," Keeley whispered, staring at the flashing digital icon. "Stop them..."
Suddenly, the screen refreshed.
The status changed from *Taxiing* to *Held by Air Traffic Control — Security Flag.*
"They did it!" Brit shouted, jumping up from her chair. "Swiss authorities boarded the aircraft! Elise is safe! She’s under federal protective custody at the airport medical facility!"
A massive wave of relief washed over me. I sank back into my chair, closing my eyes as the suffocating weight of five years of Landon’s cruelty began to lift from my shoulders.
He was in jail. His fraud was exposed. My sister was protected. For the first time in twelve years, the monster had lost.
Then, my personal phone buzzed on the desk.
It wasn't a call from Martin. It wasn't a notification from the bank.
It was an incoming call from an unlisted international number with a Zurich country code.
I looked at Sloane, whose expression turned instantly vigilant. I reached out, swiped the screen, and placed the call on speaker.
"Hello?" I asked, my voice steady.
A soft, raspy, female voice answered from the other end. It was weak, but entirely coherent—and chillingly clear.
"Harper Vance?" the woman whispered.
"Yes. This is Harper. Is this Elise? Are you all right?"
There was a long, terrifying pause on the line. In the background, I didn't hear medical equipment or Swiss police officers.
I heard the deep, unmistakable hum of jet engines accelerating into full thrust.
May you like
"Harper..." the voice said, cold and mocking, completely devoid of weakness. "You really should have asked Landon who was blackmailing whom. Your father didn't die of a heart attack. And we just cleared runway two."
The line went dead.
