Chapter 10: The Race Against the Clock
Julian stared at the thermal printout in his hand, the numbers blurring slightly under the dim yellow light of the loading dock. Tail number N-772VX. The Vance family’s private aircraft was registered out of a private airfield twenty miles north of the city limits. Once that plane cleared local airspace, federal jurisdiction and family court orders would become nearly impossible to enforce without a multi-state federal injunction—something they couldn't secure without a lawyer willing to stand up to Evelyn Vance.
“We need a car,” Julian said, looking up from the slip of paper to meet Marcus’s gaze. His own truck was parked in the hospital’s main visitor garage, but pulling it out would trigger the automated license plate scanners linked directly to the Vance security database.
Marcus crossed his arms, looking out toward the rainy parking lot where several delivery vans sat idling. “You can’t take your own vehicle, Julian. The moment you swipe your parking ticket at the exit gate, an automated alert goes straight to Arthur Gable’s desk. My supervisor’s van isn’t tracked by the hospital’s private network, though. It’s a standard municipal courier route.”
Claire managed to sit up slightly, clutching the canvas tarp beneath her. “Take the van, Julian. Go after her.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” Julian said instantly, shaking his head. “If I go alone, Evelyn’s security will catch up to you the second I’m out the door.”
“She’s right, Julian,” Marcus interjected, stepping over to a small metal key cabinet on the wall and unlocking it with a brass key from his belt loop. He grabbed a set of heavy keys dangling from a red tag and tossed them through the air. Julian caught them reflexively. “I can hide Claire in the secure medical locker room down the hall. No one checks there until the morning shift change at six. You drive out in the van, intercept that plane, and bring my niece back.”
Julian looked down at the keys in his hand, then over at Claire. Her eyes met his, filled with a heartbreaking mixture of love, fear, and absolute trust.
“Go,” Claire whispered, her voice cracking. “Don’t let them win, Julian.”
Julian nodded once, a solemn promise passing between them without another word. He turned on his heel, pulling the hood of his dark green jacket up over his head, and bolted out the side exit toward the row of white delivery vans parked in the rain.
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The cold night air hit him like a physical blow as he sprinted across the wet asphalt. He found the van matching the key tag—a standard Ford Transit with the Apex logistics logo on the side. He shoved the key into the ignition, twisted it, and the diesel engine roared to life with a low, vibrating rumble that shook the steering wheel.
He threw the gearshift into reverse, checked his mirrors, and sped out of the loading bay into the rainy darkness, heading north toward Route 9 and the private airfield where a Gulfstream jet was waiting on the tarmac.
