Chapter 13 - The Final Bluff
The cold wind swept across the tarmac, carrying with it the heavy scent of jet fuel and impending defeat. Julian stared at Clara in absolute horror, the final pillar of his hope crumbling away at the mention of Sarah's cremation.
"You cremated her?" Julian whispered, his voice trembling with grief and fury. "You didn't even give her a proper burial?"
Clara tossed her hair over her shoulder, her smile as sharp as glass. "Sentimentality is a weakness, Julian. And it's the exact reason you lost everything."
Arthur Vance stepped down beside her, checking his gold watch with absolute composure. "Marshal, unless you have a physical warrant signed by a federal magistrate specifically for this aircraft, my client is boarding her flight."
Mark Miller lowered his weapon slightly, his jaw tightening in frustration. He looked at Martha, knowing that without physical forensic evidence, arresting Clara on the spot would be legally impossible.
Martha, however, didn't flinch. She stepped forward, holding little Lily close to her chest. A calm, knowing expression settled over her weathered face.
"You are very smart, Clara," Martha said, her voice carrying a quiet, steady authority that commanded the attention of everyone on the runway. "You planned the finances, you forged the proxies, and you even arranged for a quick cremation to destroy the autopsy evidence."
Clara raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her red coat. "And yet, you're the one standing on a windy runway with nowhere to go."
"Except you made one fatal mistake," Martha continued, her eyes locking onto Clara's fading smile. "You assumed Sarah was the only one who knew about your past in Vermont."
Clara's calm exterior cracked for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widened slightly before she quickly recovered her composure. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Martha replied, stepping closer. "The asylum isn't the only place with records, Clara. The private investigator didn't just track your corporate fraud—he found your first husband, the one you poisoned twelve years ago in Boston under the name Catherine Miller."
Arthur Vance turned sharply toward Clara, his professional demeanor evaporating into sudden panic. "Catherine? What is she talking about?"
Clara glared at Vance, her face twisting with sudden rage. "Shut up, Arthur! She's bluffing!"
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"I'm not bluffing," Mark Miller said, tapping his leather binder. "The federal warrant for your arrest under your real identity was signed by Judge Henderson twenty minutes ago. The jurisdiction is airtight."
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