Chapter 6 - The Jet That Never Left
Flynn lunged toward the conference room door.
Two officers stopped him before he reached it.
"Get out of my way."
His voice had lost every trace of the polished executive I knew.
Detective Alvarez stepped between him and the officers.
"Your plane is not leaving."
"If Selina is on it, stop her."
"That is already happening."
Flynn looked toward Pike.
"Call aviation security."
Pike did not move.
"Sit down, Flynn."
"Call them."
"The police are handling it."
Flynn stared at him.
For years, people had moved when Flynn gave an order.
Now no one did.
He finally turned toward me.
"Mabel, I did not authorize that flight."
I looked at him without answering.
"I swear to you."
"Your promises are not evidence."
His face tightened.
That sentence belonged to Alvarez, but I had learned it well.
The detective's phone rang again.
She listened for nearly a minute.
Then she looked at us.
"The aircraft is secured."
"Is she onboard?" Flynn asked.
"No."
His relief vanished.
"Then where is she?"
"We do not know yet."
Alvarez turned to the officer beside her.
"Get units to every Vance property she has accessed in the last year."
Flynn shook his head.
"She knows places you will not find in corporate records."
Alvarez looked at him sharply.
"Then start talking."
Pike immediately objected.
"Not without an immunity discussion."
Flynn spun toward him.
"This is not about immunity."
"Everything you say can affect your case."
"Megan is unconscious and Selina may be running."
"That does not change your legal position."
Flynn gave a short, bitter laugh.
"My legal position is that I put a knife into my wife because I believed a liar."
The room became quiet.
He looked at me.
"There is nothing left to protect."
I almost corrected him.
There was always something left for Flynn to protect.
His company.
His name.
His freedom.
His father's legacy.
But for the first time, he seemed willing to risk one of those things to reach Selina.
Alvarez pulled out her notebook.
"Where would she go?"
Flynn rubbed both hands over his face.
"There is a lake house in Wisconsin."
"Owned by whom?"
"A subsidiary."
"Address?"
He gave it.
"Anywhere else?"
"A townhouse in Toronto owned by a Vance foundation."
"Anywhere else?"
Flynn hesitated.
I noticed.
So did Alvarez.
"Mr. Vance."
He looked at the table.
"A house in Lake Geneva."
"You just said Wisconsin."
"Different property."
"Who owns it?"
His jaw tightened.
"Selina does."
Pike closed his eyes.
I stared at Flynn.
"You bought her a house."
He did not look at me.
"Two years ago."
"While we were married."
"Yes."
I laughed softly.
It sounded strange even to me.
"Of course you did."
"Mabel."
"Do not."
He stopped.
Alvarez wrote down the address.
"Anything else?"
Flynn thought for several seconds.
"A storage facility near O'Hare."
"Why would she use that?"
"I gave her a unit years ago when she moved back to Chicago."
"Unit number?"
He gave that too.
Nathan leaned toward me.
"Every answer somehow makes him worse."
I did not disagree.
Within thirty minutes, police units were moving toward all three locations.
I was returned to my room under Dr. Reed's supervision.
He was furious that I had stayed in the conference room too long.
"Your blood pressure is elevated."
"A fugitive just tried to use my husband's jet."
"Your body does not care."
"Mine seems unusually interested."
He did not smile.
"You need rest."
I looked at him.
"Did Megan survive?"
"I am not her doctor."
"You know."
He hesitated.
"She is alive."
I exhaled.
"What happened to her?"
"I do not know."
That was not entirely true, but I let it go.
At 3:40 p.m., Alvarez called.
Megan had been taken to another hospital with a head injury and traces of a sedative in her system.
She was expected to recover.
Selina remained missing.
The private jet flight plan had been filed using a Vance aviation account from a laptop in Unit 1704.
The passenger manifest listed one traveler.
Mabel Vance.
I read the name twice when Alvarez sent me the screenshot.
"She was going to make it look like I fled."
"That is one possibility."
"She used my name."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"We do not know yet."
I stared at the flight plan.
Then something occurred to me.
"My passport is missing."
Alvarez went silent.
"What?"
"My passport disappeared from the house."
"When did you last see it?"
"Before the stabbing."
Her tone changed immediately.
"I need the passport number."
Camille had a copy in my files.
Within an hour, border officials had been alerted.
At 5:12 p.m., the missing passport was found in a leather handbag inside Flynn's private jet.
The bag also contained cash, a wig, prescription sedatives, and a prepaid phone.
The phone had never been activated.
But the handbag held one more item.
A folded letter.
It was typed.
The signature at the bottom looked like mine.
Detective Alvarez read it to me over the phone.
I cannot live with what I have done.
I lied about Selina because I was jealous.
Flynn acted because I pushed him beyond reason.
I have ruined his life and destroyed our children.
I am leaving because I cannot face him or the public.
Please do not look for me.
Mabel.
For several seconds, I could not speak.
"She wrote a confession for me."
"It appears so."
"She was going to put me on a passenger manifest, plant my passport, and leave a letter saying I was guilty."
"That is what the evidence suggests."
My hands began to shake.
This was no longer a woman trying to keep my husband.
This was someone methodically trying to erase me.
"Detective, if she was not planning to get on the plane, why file the flight plan?"
"Maybe she wanted us looking north."
"While she went somewhere else."
"Exactly."
At 6:03, police searched the Wisconsin lake house.
Empty.
At 6:41, Toronto authorities checked the foundation townhouse.
Empty.
At 7:15, officers entered the Lake Geneva house Flynn had bought for Selina.
They found packed suitcases.
No Selina.
At 8:20, Alvarez called again.
"We found something at the storage unit."
I sat up.
"What?"
"Documents."
"Mine?"
"Some are."
My missing leather case had been opened and emptied across a folding table.
There were copies of my preferred-share agreements.
Copies of the Vance descendant trust.
Copies of old emails between my former firm and Vance Global.
There were also photographs of Flynn, board members, and several senior executives.
Some were marked with dates.
Some with dollar amounts.
"What is she doing?"
"We are still inventorying."
Alvarez paused.
"There is one item you need to know about now."
"Tell me."
"A notebook."
"What kind?"
"Handwritten."
"Selina's?"
"We believe so."
My pulse quickened.
"What does it say?"
Alvarez was quiet for a moment.
"There are entries about you."
"How far back?"
"At least eighteen months."
I closed my eyes.
"Read one."
"I do not think that is a good idea over the phone."
"Read one."
She exhaled.
"Fine."
Pages turned on her end.
Then she read.
March 14.
F still refuses to admit M is wrong for him.
He protects the marriage because of the board and his father.
Need him angry enough to act without thinking.
I felt cold spread through me.
"Another."
"Mrs. Vance."
"Another."
Alvarez read again.
April 2.
M may still hold conversion shares.
If child comes, everything changes.
Need confirmation before next step.
My throat closed.
"She knew before the clinic photograph."
"Possibly."
"Another."
Alvarez hesitated longer this time.
Then she read.
April 27.
Confirmed.
Eight weeks will be enough.
F keeps knife near fruit when stressed.
He will believe me if I give him proof first.
My body went completely still.
Eight weeks will be enough.
I was eight weeks pregnant when Flynn stabbed me.
The notebook had not merely recorded a plan.
It had timed my pregnancy.
"Detective."
My voice sounded distant.
"She planned the day."
Alvarez did not argue.
"Yes."
For the first time, she said it without qualification.
Then another call came through on her line.
She put me on hold.
When she returned, her voice had changed.
"We may have located Selina."
"Where?"
"Downtown."
"Where downtown?"
"Vance Global headquarters."
I stared at the wall.
"Why would she go there?"
Alvarez answered immediately.
May you like
"Because someone just used Flynn's executive badge to enter the forty-second floor."
