Chapter 10 - The Fall Of The Penthouse
Twenty minutes later, the distant sirens of forty federal vehicles could be heard wailing along the highway bypass.
In the top-floor executive suite of Blackridge Tower, Richard Blackridge was rapidly packing an aluminum briefcase.
Piles of bearer bonds, diamond parcels, and three diplomatic passports from non-extradition nations were shoved inside.
His private corporate helicopter was currently warming its twin turbine engines on the roof helipad directly above his head.
The low, rhythmic thumping of the helicopter blades vibrated through the floorboards.
Across the desk, DA Leonard Cross was hyperventilating into a brown paper bag.
“Richard, they arrested Chief Vance at the warehouse!” Cross cried, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.
“The state troopers have blocked the interstate exits!”
“Pike is in federal custody! He’s going to sing, Richard! Pike won’t do ten minutes in prison for us!”
Blackridge clicked the heavy locks of the briefcase shut with a sharp snap.
“Then let him sing to an empty sky, Leonard,” Blackridge sneered, not bothering to look at his long-time co-conspirator.
“My helicopter will take me directly to an airstrip in South Carolina.”
“By midnight, I will be in a non-extradition villa in South America.”
“What about me?!” Cross screamed, grabbing Blackridge’s tailored sleeve.
“Take me with you!”
Blackridge tore his arm away with violent disgust, pushing the District Attorney back into his chair.
“You were useful when you could sign search warrants and bury murder files, Leonard.”
“Now you’re just dead weight.”
“Enjoy federal prison.”
Blackridge picked up the heavy briefcase and sprinted toward the private executive stairwell leading to the roof.
He slammed through the reinforced fire doors and stepped out into the howling wind and rain of the helipad.
The helicopter’s red beacon flashed rhythmically in the fog.
The pilot was sitting behind the controls, his helmet visor pulled down.
Blackridge ran toward the passenger door, ducking under the spinning main rotor.
He pulled open the sliding door, threw his briefcase onto the leather seat, and climbed inside.
“Get us airborne now!” Blackridge shouted over the roar of the engines.
“Go, go, go!”
The pilot did not touch the cyclic stick.
The turbine engines began to whine downward, the RPM dropping rapidly as the throttle was pulled back to idle.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Blackridge screamed, lunging forward to grab the pilot’s shoulder.
“I said lift off!”
The pilot took off his aviation helmet and turned around slowly in the cockpit seat.
It was not Blackridge’s private pilot.
It was Vincent Hale.
Vincent looked at Blackridge with a thin, mocking smile.
“Flight’s cancelled due to bad weather, Mr. Blackridge,” Vincent said smoothly.
Blackridge gasped, stumbling backward toward the open sliding door.
He turned to leap out onto the concrete pad, but stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing at the edge of the helipad, his dark trench coat billowing in the high-altitude wind, was Gabriel Moretti.
Beside Gabriel stood two dozen federal marshals in dark tactical vests, their shotguns and carbines leveled at the executive.
Leading the squad was Special Agent David Martinez, holding a crisp federal arrest warrant in his gloved hand.
“Richard Blackridge,” Agent Martinez announced, his voice carrying over the dying hum of the turbine blades.
“By order of the United States District Court for the Eastern District of North Carolina, you are under arrest for conspiracy, environmental terrorism, bribery, and attempted murder.”
Blackridge looked from the marshals to Gabriel Moretti.
His empire was gone.
His money, his influence, his corporate towers—all reduced to ashes in less than twelve hours.
“Moretti!” Blackridge roared into the wind, his eyes bulging with insane fury.
“You destroyed everything I spent forty years building!”
“For what?!”
“For a pregnant nobody who couldn't even pay for her own gas?!”
Gabriel took three slow steps forward, stopping inches from where Blackridge stood trembling.
The wind whipped between them, seventy stories above the city of Bellhaven.
Gabriel leaned down, his voice cutting through the storm with chilling, absolute clarity.
“Her name is Emma Whitaker,” Gabriel said.
“She is the mother of this city’s future.”
“And you, Richard, are nothing more than a parasite that overstayed his welcome.”
Gabriel looked back at Agent Martinez.
“Take the trash out, David.”
Two burly federal marshals grabbed Blackridge by both arms, kicking his legs out from under him and forcing him flat against the wet roof.
The cold steel of federal handcuffs clicked tightly around his wrists.
Blackridge screamed obscenities into the concrete as he was dragged toward the elevator shafts.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the roof, looking down across the sprawling city of Bellhaven.
The rain was finally beginning to clear.
A sliver of golden morning sunlight broke through the eastern clouds, reflecting off the dark surface of the Cape Fear River.
Vincent walked up beside Gabriel, handing him a clean handkerchief.
“It’s over, boss,” Vincent murmured.
Gabriel looked at the sun breaking over the docks.
May you like
“No, Vincent,” Gabriel said quietly, turning back toward the stairs.
“It’s only over when Emma Whitaker holds her son in her arms without fear.”
