Chapter 7 - The Hangar
Hangar 42 sat at the far end of the tarmac, isolated from the main control tower. A sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream was idling on the runway just outside the massive rolling doors.
We ditched the van behind a row of rusted fuel tanks and approached on foot. The side door of the hangar was propped open.
Inside, the cavernous space smelled of aviation fuel and expensive leather. And there, standing by a pallet of steel lockboxes, was Victoria.
She looked entirely different. Her blonde hair was dyed a harsh, raven black. She wore tactical clothing, a sleek leather jacket, and she was violently shoving stacks of hundred-dollar bills into a massive canvas duffel bag.
"Taking a trip, Vic?" I called out, stepping into the light, raising the 9mm.
She froze. She turned slowly, her eyes widening in genuine shock. "Marcus? How did you..."
"I built the vault, remember?" I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my chest. "You really thought I wouldn't recognize my own blueprints?"
"Marcus, put the gun down," she said, her voice shifting into that placating, honey-sweet tone she used when she wanted her way. "You don't understand the people I'm dealing with. I did this to protect you and Ethan."
"You covered our seven-year-old son in your blood and left him in the freezing cold!" I screamed, the echo bouncing off the steel roof. "Don't you dare say you protected him!"
"It kept the Sicarios off his back!" she yelled back, her mask slipping, revealing the cold, calculating sociopath beneath. "If they thought I was dead, they wouldn't torture him for my location! I left him with Mrs. Gable. I knew she'd call you. He was perfectly safe!"
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"You're sick," David said, stepping out from the shadows, his weapon trained on her chest. "Step away from the bags, Victoria."
Before she could move, the deafening screech of tires echoed outside. Three black SUVs tore onto the tarmac, completely surrounding the Gulfstream and blocking the hangar exit.
