Chapter 11 - The Confession At Thirty Thousand Feet
The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind Adrian, sealing off the roar of the jet engines and the shouts of the security guards outside. The interior of the Gulfstream was bathed in soft, amber lighting, smelling faintly of aged leather and expensive scotch.
Clara sat bound to a plush leather armchair near the front of the cabin, a gag tied tightly across her mouth, her eyes wide with terror as she struggled against her restraints. In the seat beside her, little Lily was wrapped in a woolen blanket, sleeping soundly thanks to a mild sedative administered by one of Sterling’s men.
"Untie her right now, Sterling," Adrian demanded, stepping forward with his fists clenched, ignoring the armed guard standing to his left.
Marcus Sterling took a slow sip from a crystal glass of bourbon, swirling the amber liquid before setting it down on the mahogany table between them.
"Relax, Adrian. We're old friends," Sterling said, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him. "Or at least, we used to be, before you decided to steal my corporate ledger and hide it in that storage locker downtown."
"I didn't steal anything!" Adrian shouted, stepping closer. "You framed me three years ago! You used my signature to embezzle millions and left me with a criminal record so I couldn't get a real job!"
"And yet, you survived," Sterling replied smoothly, not a single muscle twitching in his face. "You built a quiet little life in the suburbs. You had a lovely wife, a beautiful daughter, and a nice black SUV. But you couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You kept digging through the old shipping manifests."
Adrian’s jaw tightened. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the digital recorder, slamming it down hard onto the mahogany table.
"Every transaction is recorded on this device, Sterling," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low rumble. "Detective Vance already has a copy synced to the precinct server. If this plane doesn't land at a domestic airport, an arrest warrant with your name on it goes out to every federal agency in the country."
Sterling stared at the small black recorder for a long moment. Then, to Adrian’s complete surprise, a slow, condescending smile spread across the billionaire's face.
"Detective Vance?" Sterling chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "Adrian, did you really think a mid-level local cop could afford a custom encrypted data-sync protocol?"
The cabin door at the rear of the plane suddenly clicked open, and heavy footsteps echoed down the narrow aisle. Adrian spun around, his heart stopping as Detective Vance stepped into the cabin, pulling off his trench coat and casually tossing it onto an empty seat.
May you like
Vance offered Adrian a cold, professional smile, reaching into his pocket to pull out a matching gold signet ring just like the one found in the hospital room.
---
