Chapter 14 - THE RUNWAYWe reached the private airfield at 11:48 p.m.
Rain hit the windshield.
Police vehicles surrounded the hangar.
A plane was preparing for departure.
Reyes ordered everyone to move.
We entered from both sides.
Inside the hangar, my father stood beside a suitcase.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
He looked at me.
Then at Ethan.
Then at Claire.
"I wondered which one of you would betray me first."
I stared at him.
"You almost killed my son."
He shook his head.
"No."
"You did."
"I gave orders."
The distinction meant nothing.
"I never intended Noah to die."
I stepped closer.
"You forced my wife to hurt him."
"I manipulated her."
Claire looked away.
My father smiled.
"She was angry. She was frightened. She wanted revenge. I simply showed her where to direct it."
Ethan moved forward.
"You burned the warehouse."
My father looked at him.
"You survived."
"You killed everyone else."
"I did what was necessary."
Reyes raised his weapon.
"You're under arrest."
My father laughed.
"You still don't understand."
He pointed at me.
"The moment you fight me, I win."
"What?"
"The records. The transfers. The fake account. The violent incident in your kitchen. Everything has been documented."
He smiled.
"You are the perfect suspect."
I felt cold.
Then Reyes stepped forward.
"Not anymore."
He lifted a recorder.
"We have your confession."
My father stopped smiling.
"The warehouse recording."
"The fire confession."
"The account."
"The plan."
He looked at Claire.
She had secretly recorded him months earlier.
My father realized too late.
"You."
Claire didn't speak.
Police moved in.
My father ran.
Ethan intercepted him.
They crashed into a table.
I shouted.
Police separated them.
My father was handcuffed.
For the first time in years, the man who had controlled everyone stood powerless.
But as officers dragged him away, he turned toward me.
"Ask Ethan what really happened that night."
I froze.
"What?"
He smiled.
"You still don't know."
Then he was gone.
I turned toward Ethan.
"What did he mean?"
Ethan looked at the ground.
"He's trying to get inside your head."
"Tell me."
He didn't answer.
Claire did.
"The fire."
"What about it?"
She stepped closer.
"I found an old photograph."
"Of what?"
"You."
My stomach dropped.
"I wasn't there."
She shook her head.
"You were."
I stared at her.
"What?"
She pulled a photograph from her coat.
It showed the warehouse the night of the fire.
Smoke.
Flames.
Police vehicles.
And me.
Standing outside.
Alive.
I recognized the clothes.
My jacket.
My face.
But I had no memory of being there.
Ethan looked at the picture.
His expression changed.
"I've never seen that."
Neither had I.
Then I noticed the timestamp.
The photograph had been taken twelve minutes before the fire started.
I was standing beside a woman.
A woman I recognized immediately.
May you like
My mother.
She had died five years earlier.
