Chapter 7
Richard Bell did not lower the gun.
His eyes bulged, the veins along his temples throbbing with purple, violent intensity as he stared down at the glowing smartphone screen.
"A federal tap..." Richard stammered, his breath coming in ragged, whistling drags. "You had a magistrate on the line the entire time?"
"Since the moment your car pulled into the hospital parking garage, Mr. Bell," Judge Vance’s voice crackled from the phone. "The United States District Court issued an emergency protection order forty minutes ago. Your actions in that room constitute aggravated kidnapping, extortion, and armed assault under federal maritime and civil statutes. Lower the firearm immediately."
"No!" Richard roared, waving the barrel wildly between Emma and the phone. "You don't have jurisdiction over the Walker private trust! This is an intra-family civil dispute! You're working with her!"
"Dad, put it down!" Mark yelled, his voice cracking into sheer terror as he pressed his back against the wall, Noah crying harder in his arms. "Put the gun down! There’s a federal judge watching us! Are you insane?"
"Shut up, Mark!" Richard screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "You think we walk out of here if I drop this? Look at the charge sheet! We're facing twenty years minimum! If we don't have the signatures, we have nothing!"
He snapped his aim back to Emma’s forehead.
"Sign the transfer, Emma! Sign it right now, or I swear to God I will take you with me!"
"You won't shoot," Emma said, her voice an anchor of terrifying serenity in the madness. "Because you're a coward, Richard. You've always been a coward. You let other men service your debts, you let other men fly broken planes, and you let your son hold a stolen newborn because you were afraid to get your own hands dirty."
"Try me!" Richard snarled, his finger squeezing the trigger slack.
"Go ahead," Emma said. "Pull it. And tell the federal marshals why Ethan’s plane was missing its primary hydraulic seals."
Richard froze. The weapon dipped a fraction of an inch. "What did you say?"
"You thought the crash investigation was closed, didn't you?" Emma continued, holding his gaze with relentless ferocity. "You thought the FAA filed it as pilot error during instrument weather. But the tail section was recovered six days ago, Richard. Off the coast of Bermuda."
Denise gasped from the floor, pulling herself up by the arm of the chair, her face drained of all color. "Richard... what is she talking about? You said the wreckage sank to four thousand meters! You said nobody would ever reach it!"
"Denise, shut up!" Richard hissed, panic finally piercing his rage.
"The salvage team retrieved the black box, Richard," Emma said, each word landing like an anvil. "And they retrieved the ground maintenance telemetry. Someone bypassed the second-stage hydraulic valves from inside the left wheel well while the aircraft was parked in your private hangar. Only three people had electronic badge access to that hangar on the night of the flight."
She turned her eyes slowly toward Mark.
"Mark Bell," Emma said softly. "Whose badge was logged at the maintenance terminal at two in the morning on October third?"
Mark’s knees buckled. He slid down the wall until his suit trousers hit the floor, his face the shade of curdled milk.
"No..." Mark whimpered, clutching Noah to his chest like a dying man clinging to a life raft. "No, Dad told me... Dad told me we were just pulling the flight recorder! He told me we were just pulling the tax documents from the onboard safe! He said nobody was going to get hurt!"
"You signed the maintenance log, Mark?" Carla shrieked, crawling across the carpet toward her brother. "You helped him kill Ethan?"
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"I didn't know!" Mark sobbed, tears finally pouring down his fair, rosy cheeks. "I swear to God, Carla, I didn't know the plane was going to go down!"
"You pathetic little worm," Richard whispered, turning his gun directly toward his own son.
