Everyone watched Victoria raise her hand against a helpless elderly woman, but only one waitress dared to stop her—and seconds later, Chicago’s most powerful billionaire walked straight toward them. / Chapter 44 / 191

Chapter 44 - O'Hare Lockdown

Above ground, rain began to lash against the tarmac of O'Hare International Airport.

At the western edge of the airfield, far from the commercial terminals, sat Hangar 7. Parked outside on the wet tarmac was a sleek Gulfstream private jet, its twin engines already whining softly as the flight crew conducted pre-flight pressurization tests.

Inside the hangar, half a dozen private security contractors wearing black raincoats and earpieces patrolled the perimeter. In the cabin of the jet, sitting in a plush leather seat, was an elderly woman with silver hair, wrapped in a faded cardigan. She held a worn rosary in her trembling hands, her eyes clouded with anxiety, yet her back remained remarkably straight.

Standing over her was a tall man in a dark trench coat, speaking into a secure satellite phone.

"Senator, the decoy vehicles from Moretti Tower are being boxed in near Lincoln Park," the operative reported. "Moretti wasn't in them. The tower itself is completely locked down by our federal team, but they haven't located the target."

On the other end of the line, Marcus Vance’s voice was venomous. "He didn't take the lobby, and he didn't use the roof. That means he used the underground line. Check your perimeter now. If that clock hits zero, wheels up. I don't care if Moretti is in the air or on the ground. Once the plane is in Mexican airspace, dispose of the old woman."

"Understood, sir."

Suddenly, the control tower’s emergency frequencies crackled across the airport's ground communications.

"All ground units, this is FAA Regional Dispatch. Emergency stop order issued for Taxiway Bravo and Hangar 7. All outbound private charters are halted under federal maritime jurisdiction."

The contractor frowned, pressing his earpiece. "What the hell? Check the tower! Vance owns the FAA regional director!"

"Sir!" another guard shouted from the edge of the hangar, pointing out into the rain. "Look at the perimeter gate!"

Two miles away, the security gates of the airport's perimeter service road had just been smashed inward. A matte-black armored truck, customized with reinforced steel bull bars and heavy off-road suspension, tore through the chain-link fence, throwing sparks into the gray sky as it charged across the empty outer taxiways directly toward Hangar 7.

Inside the armored truck, Vincent held the wheel with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear on speaker.

"Matteo, did the maritime injunction hold?" Vincent demanded over the roar of the supercharged engine.

"The federal judge Vance bought tried to overturn it, but I just leaked Vance’s offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands to three major national news outlets," Matteo’s voice crackled through. "The FAA cannot clear that jet for takeoff without triggering an automatic federal investigation into the flight crew. The pilots won't throttle up."

"Good," Vincent said, slamming his foot on the accelerator. "Hold the line. We’re breaching now."

Emma sat beside him, gripping the dashboard with both hands as the jet came into view through the rain-streaked windshield. Her heart hammered against her chest. "Grandma! I see the jet!"