Chapter 3 - THE BLUE INHALER
The parking garage spun around me. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a harsh, electric hum that sounded like a swarm of wasps. I stared at the blue plastic inhaler in Daniel’s trembling hand.
I knew that inhaler. It had a tiny, faded Superman sticker on the side. Leo had put it there himself while sitting on my office floor, coloring quietly while his mother wept through her intake interview.
“Where did you get this?” I demanded, my voice barely a croak.
Daniel swallowed hard, glancing over his shoulder toward the elevator banks. “One of the private security contractors Vanessa hired for the gala. He handed it to her discretely right before dessert. I saw the exchange. She paid him in cash from the petty fund.”
“You let a hired thug take a battered woman and a sick child?” I screamed, shoving the car door open. It hit Daniel’s leg, forcing him back. I stepped out, grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive suit. “Where did they take them, Daniel? Tell me right now!”
“I don’t know!” Daniel cried, putting his hands up defensively. “I swear to God, Mara! I just heard the contractor say the ‘asset was secured’ at the transit hub. That’s all he said. Transit hub.”
My mind raced. The transit hub. The old Greyhound station downtown, or the regional airport? Marcus Vance had money. He had influence. If he wanted to make his wife and son disappear, he wouldn't put them on a bus.
He would fly them out.
“The regional airport,” I said, letting go of Daniel. I snatched the inhaler from his hand. “He’s taking them out of the state.”
“Mara, don’t do this,” Daniel begged, rubbing his chest. “Marcus Vance is dangerous. He broke a man’s jaw last year over a parking dispute, and the police just looked the other way. If you go after him—”
“He’s going to kill her, Daniel,” I said coldly. “If he gets her alone, where no one is watching, he will kill her. And he’ll keep Leo.”
I got back into my car and slammed the door. I threw it into reverse, tires screeching against the painted concrete, and sped out of the garage into the dark city streets.
The drive to the regional airport took twenty agonizing minutes. Rain began to spit against my windshield, smearing the streetlights into blurry, angry red streaks. My phone buzzed constantly on the passenger seat. Three missed calls from Adrian. Two from unknown numbers. I ignored them all.
I pulled into the short-term parking lot of the small, outdated airport. It was past ten at night; the terminal was mostly empty, save for a few red-eye flights and cargo crews.
I ran through the automatic sliding doors, scanning the sparse crowds. The harsh white lights illuminated empty ticket counters and a single, bored security guard checking his phone.
Where would Marcus take them? Private charter. He wouldn't risk Sarah screaming in a commercial security line.
I sprinted toward the east wing, where the private aviation companies operated. The hallway grew quieter, the carpet thicker.
Through the large glass windows overlooking the tarmac, I saw it. A sleek, white Gulfstream jet. The stairs were down. A black SUV was parked directly on the tarmac next to it.
And standing near the bottom of the stairs, shielded from the rain by an umbrella held by a bodyguard, was Marcus Vance.
He looked exactly like his society photos—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tailored cashmere coat. But there was a rigid, coiled violence in his posture.
He was holding Sarah by the upper arm. Her head was bowed. She was wearing the same oversized gray sweater I had bought for her at a thrift store the day she fled.
Leo was standing next to her, clutching his backpack, looking absolutely terrified.
I hit the heavy glass door leading to the private tarmac. It was locked. A keypad blinked red next to the handle.
“Hey!” I screamed, pounding both fists against the reinforced glass. “Sarah!”
They couldn't hear me over the whine of the jet engines warming up. Marcus leaned down, saying something into Sarah’s ear. She flinched, shrinking into herself. He gave her a rough shove toward the stairs.
I looked around frantically. A heavy brass fire extinguisher was mounted on the wall to my left.
I didn't think about the consequences. I didn't think about the police, or Vanessa, or the foundation. I just grabbed the heavy red cylinder, lifted it with both hands, and swung it as hard as I could against the center of the glass door.
The glass spider-webbed with a deafening CRACK.
I swung again. The glass shattered, raining down onto the carpet.
The security alarm triggered instantly—a piercing, high-pitched wail that echoed through the terminal.
On the tarmac, Marcus whipped his head around. He saw me stepping through the broken door, bleeding slightly from a cut on my cheek, holding the red fire extinguisher like a weapon.
“Let her go!” I screamed into the rain, sprinting toward the jet.
The bodyguard dropped the umbrella and reached inside his jacket.
I froze, twenty feet away. My breath plumed in the cold air.
Marcus smiled. It was a terrifying, dead-eyed smile. He pulled Sarah tighter against his side.
“You must be Mara,” Marcus called out over the engine noise. His voice was smooth, cultured, and entirely devoid of empathy. “Vanessa mentioned you were persistent. But you’re too late. My family is going home.”
“She doesn't want to go with you,” I yelled.
Sarah looked up. Her face was pale, a fresh, dark bruise forming along her jawline. But her eyes met mine.
“Take Leo,” she mouthed silently.
Before I could react, Sarah suddenly threw her weight backward, stomping her heel violently onto Marcus’s instep. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough.
Sarah shoved Leo away from the stairs. “Run, Leo! Run to Mara!”
The little boy didn't hesitate. He bolted toward me, his backpack bouncing against his small shoulders.
“Grab the kid!” Marcus roared at the bodyguard.
The guard lunged forward. I threw the heavy fire extinguisher straight at his legs. It hit his knee with a sickening crunch. The man went down, cursing in the wet tarmac.
Leo crashed into my legs, burying his face in my coat. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tight against me.
But when I looked up, my victory turned to ash.
Marcus had recovered. He had Sarah by the hair, his face twisted in absolute rage.
“You think you won?” Marcus yelled, dragging her up the first step of the jet. “You keep the boy tonight. But you know who I am. You know what I can do to the foundation. Bring him back to my house by noon tomorrow, or I promise you, I will make sure this woman never breathes free air again.”
He dragged Sarah up the stairs and threw her into the cabin. The heavy door began to close.
“Mom!” Leo screamed, fighting against my grip. “Mommy!”
“I’m sorry, Leo,” I sobbed, holding him back as the door sealed shut. “I’m so sorry.”
The jet engines roared to life. We stood in the rain, watching the plane taxi down the runway, taking Sarah away.
Leo was weeping into my coat. I knelt down, hugging him tightly.
“We’ll get her back,” I whispered fiercely into his ear. “I promise you, Leo. I will tear their lives apart.”
As I held him, I felt something hard pressing into my chest from his backpack.
I pulled back slightly. “Leo, what’s in your bag?”
The boy sniffled, reaching into the front pocket. He pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. It looked ancient.
“Mommy told me to take it from his desk,” Leo whispered. “Before we ran away the first time. She said it was the only thing that could stop him.”
I took the book. It wasn't a diary.
It was a ledger.
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And embossed on the bottom right corner, in faded gold lettering, was a name.
Adrian Moretti, Sr.
