Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The private terminal at Teterboro was deserted save for the staff and the flight crew of the Callaway private jet—a sleek Gulfstream G650 waiting on the tarmac, its engines whining with low, impatient power.
Rain was pouring now, drumming heavily against the glass walls of the private lounge.
"Wait here, Clara," Axton said, setting his briefcase on a leather armchair. "The pilot needs to review the flight manifest with me regarding the weather over the Atlantic. Ten minutes."
"Take your time," I said.
He walked through the security doors leading to the tarmac hangar. The moment the electronic lock engaged behind him, the side door of the lounge swung open.
I expected Rowan.
Instead, a soaking-wet figure stepped into the lounge, shivering violently, water dripping from the hem of a designer trench coat onto the polished terrazzo floor.
"Mila?" I gasped, rising to my feet.
My sister looked unhinged. Her hair was plastered to her skull, her makeup ruined by rain and tears. She clutched a wet leather envelope against her ribs as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
"You told him," Mila whispered, her teeth chattering. "You told Rowan Hale. He called me, Clara. He called me twenty minutes ago."
I kept my distance, my voice dropping into a low, steady hush. "Rowan called you?"
"He has the security tapes," she choked out, stepping closer to me. "Not just from last night. From the lake house in August. From the corporate suite in Chicago during the shareholder summit. Axton didn't just sleep with me, Clara—he recorded it. He kept digital files on an external drive to make sure I could never tell you without destroying myself in the process!"
The sheer, sickening depravity of it washed over me like a bucket of ice water. Axton hadn't just seduced my sister; he had collected blackmail on her to ensure her silence, keeping both Vance sisters under his thumb—one through emotional devotion, the other through terror.
"Why are you here, Mila?" I asked, my voice hardening. "Did Axton send you?"
"No!" she cried, pulling the wet envelope from beneath her coat and thrusting it into my hands. "Axton thinks I'm on a bus to Montauk. I came here because... because Rowan Hale told me that if I didn't give you this before you boarded that plane, he would release the Chicago tapes to the press by midnight."
I looked down at the envelope. Inside were three sets of certified bank statements from an offshore entity registered in the Cayman Islands under the name *M. Vance Holdings.*
"What is this?" I demanded.
"It's the money," Mila sobbed, covering her face with her trembling, wet hands. "Axton has been transferring millions out of Vance Logistics for the last six months, using an account he opened in my name. He forged my signature on the incorporation documents. If the authorities investigate Callaway Holdings, the paper trail doesn't lead to him. It leads to *me*."
I stared at the documents, the full scope of Axton’s master plan finally crystallizing in all its horrific brilliance.
He hadn't chosen Mila because he loved her. He hadn't chosen me because he loved me.
He had married me to gain control of grandfather’s voting shares, and he had framed my sister to take the fall for the corporate embezzlement that kept his company afloat. He had turned the two Vance sisters into his shield and his piggy bank, ensuring that when the collapse came, the Callaway name would emerge pristine while the Vance family was obliterated by scandal and prison sentences.
"He's a monster," Mila wept, sinking to her knees on the cold floor of the lounge. "Clara, please... I know I betrayed you. I know you will never, ever forgive me for what I did. I hate myself. I look in the mirror and I want to die. But please... don't let him put me in prison. Please don't get on that plane."
I looked down at my little sister—the girl who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, the girl who had let my husband touch her while smiling in my face. The rage in my chest was a living thing, white-hot and suffocating.
*She deserves what is coming to her,* the darkest part of my mind whispered.
*No,* another voice answered—the voice of Marcus Vance, the grandfather who had raised us both with iron principles. *The Vances settle their own debts. We don't let an outsider destroy our blood.*
I grabbed Mila by the lapels of her wet coat and hauled her roughly to her feet.
"Stop crying," I commanded, my voice slicing through her hysterics like a razor. "Stand up and look at me."
Mila sniffled, looking into my eyes with raw, terrified obedience.
"You are going to walk out that side door right now," I said, each word deliberate and razor-sharp. "Rowan's car is parked in the secondary hangar lot. You will get into the passenger seat, you will hand him your phone, and you will do exactly what he tells you to do. Do you understand me?"
"What about you?" she whispered, trembling. "Clara, if you get on that plane with him—"
May you like
"I'm not getting on that plane," I said, a cold, terrible smile touching the corners of my lips. "Axton thinks he's flying to Italy to celebrate his victory. It's time someone reminded him that pride always goes before the fall."
***
