Chapter 13 - The Race North
The flight back to New York was a waking nightmare. Every minute in the air felt like an hour. I couldn't get a signal to call Rachel until we landed at JFK. When my phone finally connected, it went straight to voicemail.
"Pick up, Rachel. Please pick up," I muttered, pacing the terminal while Vance arranged a private car.
My father was completely unhinged. He had lost his money, his reputation, and his freedom. He knew he was going to die in a federal penitentiary. His final act wasn't about saving himself; it was pure, venomous spite. He wanted to destroy me the way I had destroyed his empire.
The black town car sped through the midnight traffic of Queens. The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the streetlights. We pulled into Rachel's quiet suburban neighborhood just past 2:00 AM.
The house was completely dark. No porch light. No interior lamps.
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But parked halfway down the street, sitting silently in the shadows, was my mother’s silver Mercedes.
I didn't wait for the car to stop completely. I threw the door open, tucking the heavy Maglite into my belt, and sprinted through the pouring rain toward Rachel's front door. The lock was shattered. The wood frame was splintered. He was inside.
