Chapter 8 - The Cornered Rat
The chaos that erupted in the ballroom was absolute.
Socialites scrambled for the exits, journalists who had slipped in began snapping flashes frantically, and Julian dropped the microphone with a deafening thump that echoed through the sound system.
He didn't run to the crowd. He ran off the side of the stage, down the service stairs, his eyes wild, frantic, animalistic.
"Elena!" Marcus appeared at my side instantly, his phone pressed to his ear. "We have a problem."
The ice in my veins flared into pure terror. "What is it? What happened to Ava?"
"Julian’s mother," Marcus said grimly. "She arrived at your Southampton estate ten minutes ago in a town car with a fraudulent family court order that Gold filed before he withdrew from the case. Mrs. Gable refused to let her in, but Julian’s chauffeur forced the gate. They took Ava."
The world tilted on its axis. The chandeliers above me seemed to spin into a vortex of light.
"Where are they taking her?!" I screamed, grabbing Marcus’s lapel, every ounce of calculated composure burning away into a mother’s volcanic fury.
"Francis Gabreski Airport," Marcus said, his tactical instinct immediately kicking into overdrive. "There’s a private Cessna Citation jet on the tarmac, fueled and filed for Montreal. Julian’s mother still holds dual Canadian citizenship. If they cross the border with Ava, international custody laws will take months to untangle."
"Not on my life," I hissed.
I didn't care about the Alexander McQueen gown. I ripped the bottom hem to free my strides, kicked off my high heels, and sprinted through the VIP service tunnel toward Marcus’s SUV.
We tore out of the Ocean Club’s driveway, sirens flashing beneath the grille, the supercharged V8 engine roaring like an enraged beast. Outside the windows, the dark Hamptons roads blurred into streaks of black and green.
My hands shook as I dialed 911, identifying myself and demanding the airport tower ground all private departures.
"Marcus, how far ahead are they?"
"Six miles," Marcus answered, weaving through late-night traffic at ninety miles an hour. "The tower won't ground a private aircraft without a certified federal warrant, Elena. The local police are still verifying the emergency Amber Alert Arthur filed. We have eight minutes before that plane enters the runway."
"Drive faster," I choked out, tears of pure terror finally escaping down my cheeks. "Please, Marcus. Drive faster."
Marcus reached out, his warm, strong hand briefly gripping my trembling fingers on the console. "Hold on."
He slammed the accelerator to the floor. The SUV launched down Old Riverhead Road, sliding around the final bend as the illuminated hangars of Gabreski Airport appeared against the midnight sky.
Ahead, the silver Porsche Taycan had smashed through the secondary security barrier, its hazard lights flashing, parked directly beside the stairs of a sleek white Cessna Citation jet.
The jet’s twin turbines were already whining, spooling up to take-off thrust.
Through the floodlights of the tarmac, I saw Julian. He was pulling a crying Ava by the arm toward the airstair. Ava was wearing her little pink unicorn pajamas, her stuffed bunny dragged through the tarmac grease, her terrified screams lost under the scream of the jet engines.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
Her voice cut through the turbine roar straight into my soul.
"Marcus, don't stop!" I screamed.
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Marcus didn't touch the brakes. He aimed the heavy armored SUV directly at the nose-gear of the Cessna, cutting Julian off from the stairs by inches and screeching to a halt in a cloud of burning rubber smoke.
***
