Chapter 10 - The Falling Star of Madison Lane
Madison Lane sat in the first-class lounge at JFK,
clutching a glass of champagne with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.
She kept checking her phone,
waiting for the confirmation that the forty million had cleared.
She had her passport,
her jewels,
and a one-way ticket to Zurich.
She didn't care about Everett.
She had never cared about Everett.
He was a means to an end,
a weak man who was easy to manipulate with a smile and a well-timed touch.
But as the minutes ticked by,
the confirmation didn't come.
Instead,
a notification popped up on her screen.
"Account restricted. Please contact your financial institution."
Madison’s heart hammered against her ribs.
"No,"
she whispered.
"No,
no,
no."
She tried to log in again,
but the screen was blank.
Then,
she saw them.
Two men in dark suits,
walking toward the lounge entrance with the purposeful stride of federal agents.
Behind them,
a woman walked with a slow,
deliberate grace.
It was me.
I hadn't come to the airport to stop her.
I had come to see the look on her face when she realized the game was over.
The agents reached her table first.
"Madison Lane?"
one of them asked,
showing a badge.
"We have a warrant for your arrest on charges of corporate espionage,"
"money laundering,"
"and conspiracy to commit fraud."
Madison dropped her glass.
The champagne spilled across the marble table,
soaking into her designer travel bag.
"I... I don't know what you’re talking about!"
she stammered,
her face turning a sickly shade of gray.
"It was Everett!"
"He made me do it!"
"He’s the one you want!"
I stepped forward,
the light of the lounge reflecting in my eyes.
"Everett is currently in a motel room signing away his life for five thousand dollars,"
I said softly.
"He’s already given us the encryption keys to your private messages,
Madison."
"He threw you under the bus the second he realized he was going to drown."
Madison looked at me,
her eyes filled with a sudden,
vicious hatred.
"You think you’ve won?"
she hissed as the agents pulled her to her feet.
"You’re just a bitter woman whose husband didn't want her!"
I smiled,
a genuine,
calm smile that seemed to infuriate her more than any insult could.
"He didn't want me because he couldn't control me,"
I said.
"And you?"
"He didn't want you either."
"He wanted a mirror that would tell him he was a god."
"But gods don't end up in Jersey motels,"
"and their priests don't end up in handcuffs."
I watched as they led her away,
the crowd in the lounge staring in shocked silence.
She was shouting,
kicking,
and crying,
but the world had already moved on.
I walked to the window and watched a plane take off into the blue sky.
It was a beautiful day.
The air was clear.
The trash had been collected.
And for the first time in my life,
I was the one holding the steering wheel.
I pulled out my phone and sent a final text to Grant.
"Phase Two complete."
"Begin Phase Three."
"I want the Blackstone rebranding to start on Monday."
"And send a bouquet of withered roses to Everett’s motel."
"Include a note:"
"'Thanks for the memories.'"
"'The bill for the roses has been deducted from your five thousand.'"
May you like
I turned and walked out of the airport,
my head held high,
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