Chapter 4
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
I sat in the hard plastic chair next to Dad’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the beep of the heart monitor, too scared to close my eyes.
Every time I drifted off, I saw Robert’s face.
Heard his voice.
He was supposed to stay dead.
At 5 a.m., Dad woke up, already on his phone, barking orders to his assistant, to his security team, to the forensic accountants.
The man was a force of nature.
Three days without food or water, and he was already running the company again like he’d never left.
“Robert’s lawyers are already filing for bail,” he said, hanging up, his face grim. “He’s got a top-tier defense team. The best money can buy. They’re going to argue the video is a hoax. That I faked the whole thing to frame him. That you’re a drug addict who helped me.”
I nodded.
I’d been expecting that.
“Let them,” I said. “We have the toxicology report. We have Hale’s testimony. We have the accountants’ report showing the missing $50 million.”
“Not enough,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Robert’s too good at twisting the truth. We need more. We need the coroner’s confession. We need the texts between Robert and Sarah. We need proof he planned to have you committed. We need the smoking gun.”
Just then, there was a loud commotion out in the hallway.
Shouting. Running footsteps.
A nurse ran past the door, her face white.
I jumped up, opening the door just in time to see two police officers running toward the exit, their hands on their guns.
“What’s going on?” I called after them.
One of them stopped, breathless.
“Robert Carter,” he said. “He just made bail. $10 million cash. We just got word he’s heading to the airport. Private jet. Trying to flee the country.”
My blood ran cold.
I turned back to Dad, who was already throwing the covers off, yanking the IV out of his arm.
“No,” I said, rushing over. “You can’t leave. The doctor said you need at least another week in the hospital.”
“To hell with the doctor,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his face set. “If he gets on that plane, we’ll never get him back. He’ll hide in some country with no extradition. Spend the rest of his life spending my money, drinking my scotch, laughing at us. I’m not letting that happen.”
He stood up, swaying a little, and I grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Okay,” I said, making a split-second decision. “You stay here. You’re too weak. I’ll go. I’ll stop him.”
Dad looked at me, like he was about to argue.
Then he saw the look on my face.
The same look I’d had at the funeral, when I’d known he was alive.
“Take my security team,” he said, grabbing his phone, texting fast. “Six men. They’ll meet you at the hospital entrance. They know what to do. And Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. He’s desperate. Desperate men do stupid, dangerous things.”
I ran out of the room, down the hallway, bursting through the hospital doors just as the black SUV pulled up, tires screeching.
The head of security, Mike—an ex-Army Ranger who’d taught me to shoot when I was 16—threw the passenger door open.
“Let’s go,” he said. “We got a tip he’s using the private terminal on the east side of DFW. We’ve got 20 minutes before his jet takes off.”
I jumped in, slamming the door.
The SUV peeled out, sirens blaring (Mike had a permit), weaving through the early morning Dallas traffic like we were in a movie.
I held on to the door handle, my heart hammering.
I couldn’t let him get away.
Not after everything he’d done.
We skidded into the private terminal 18 minutes later.
The jet was already on the tarmac, engines spinning, the stairs down.
Robert was halfway up them, Sarah right behind him, dragging a huge designer suitcase, her hair a mess, no makeup, looking nothing like the polished, snickering cousin from the funeral.
“STOP!” I yelled, jumping out of the SUV before it even stopped moving.
Robert froze, halfway up the stairs.
He turned around, and I saw the knife in his hand first—small, sharp, a switchblade he must have hidden in his suit pocket.
His face was wild, his eyes bloodshot, his suit wrinkled, his tie loose.
He looked like a cornered animal.
“Get out of my way, Daniel,” he screamed, waving the knife at me. “I’m not going back to jail. I’m not spending the rest of my life rotting in a cell because your old man was too stupid to see what was right in front of him.”
Mike and the other security guards moved forward, slow, hands up, not wanting to spook him.
“Put the knife down, Robert,” Mike said, calm as anything. “It’s over.”
“IT’S NOT OVER!” Robert yelled, spittle flying. “I was supposed to have it all! The company! The money! The respect! He never gave me anything! Always James this, James that! I was the smarter one! I was the better businessman! I deserved it!”
He grabbed Sarah, yanking her in front of him, holding the knife to her throat.
Sarah screamed, thrashing, her eyes wide with terror.
“Let me go!” she shrieked. “I didn’t do anything! It was all his idea! He made me help him!”
“Shut up!” Robert snarled, pressing the knife harder against her skin, leaving a thin red line. “You were just as happy to spend the money! You wanted Daniel gone just as bad as I did! Don’t you dare act innocent now!”
I stepped forward, slow, my hands up, my eyes locked on his.
“Let her go, Robert,” I said, my voice steady, even though my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. “It’s me you want. Right? I’m the one who ruined your plan. I’m the reason you’re here. Take me. Let her go.”
Robert stared at me, his chest heaving.
For a second, I thought he’d do it.
Then he laughed, that same ugly, sharp laugh from the funeral home.
“You think I’m stupid?” he said. “You’d just love that, wouldn’t you? Be the hero. Save the day. No. I’m getting on that plane. And if anyone takes one step closer, I’ll slit her throat. Then I’ll come back for you. And your dad. And everyone else who ever crossed me.”
He started backing up the stairs, dragging Sarah with him.
I looked at Mike, who gave me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
He’d circled around to the side of the stairs, out of Robert’s line of sight.
I kept talking, keeping Robert’s eyes on me.
“You won’t get away with this,” I said. “Even if you leave, we’ll find you. Every country in the world will have your face. You’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Is that what you want? To run forever?”
“Better than rotting in jail!” he yelled, just as Mike reached the top of the stairs behind him.
Mike moved faster than I’d ever seen anyone move.
He grabbed Robert’s wrist, twisting it hard.
The knife clattered down the metal stairs, clanging on the tarmac.
Robert screamed, trying to turn, but Mike already had him in a headlock, slamming him down onto the stairs face first.
Sarah scrambled away, sobbing, crawling down the stairs as fast as she could.
Two more guards ran up, cuffing Robert, who was still screaming, thrashing, spitting curses at all of us.
I walked over to Sarah, who was huddled on the tarmac, crying, her neck bleeding a little where the knife had cut her.
She looked up at me, her face streaked with tears and mascara.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Daniel. He made me. I was scared. Please don’t let them put me in jail.”
I looked down at her.
I thought of all the times she’d mocked me.
All the times she’d called me crazy.
All the times she’d helped Robert plot to take everything from me and my dad.
I didn’t feel sorry for her.
Not even a little.
“The cops are on their way,” I said, turning away from her. “You can tell them your side of the story. Just like Robert will.”
Sure enough, three police cars came screaming onto the tarmac two minutes later, lights flashing, sirens wailing.
They cuffed Sarah, reading her her rights, and led her to a car.
They dragged Robert—still screaming, still fighting—over to another car, shoving him in the back seat.
This time, there’d be no bail.
Attempted kidnapping. Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. Trying to flee the country.
He’d be lucky if he ever saw the outside of a cell again.
Mike clapped me on the back, hard.
“Good job, kid,” he said. “You kept him talking long enough. Your dad’s gonna be proud.”
I pulled out my phone, calling Dad.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Did you get him?” he asked, his voice tight.
“We got him,” I said, watching the police cars drive away, Robert still screaming behind the glass. “Both of them. It’s over, Dad. They’re not going anywhere.”
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I heard him let out a long, shaky breath on the other end.
“Good,” he said. “Now come home. We’ve got a company to save. And a lot of work to do.”
