Chapter 7 - The Tarmac Betrayal
I slammed on the brakes, absolutely stunned by the chaotic scene unfolding on the rainy tarmac.
My father was aggressively holding the woman I was supposed to marry at gunpoint.
Sloane looked completely terrified, her hands raised in the air while she gripped a small, temperature-controlled medical cooler.
I slowly stepped out of the car, keeping my hands visible while ordering Clara to lock the doors and stay low.
My father smiled a cold, victorious smile when he saw me walking across the wet asphalt.
He proudly declared that he had discovered Sloane's secret blackmail scheme involving the boys' medication.
He was deeply offended that the Barrett family was trying to steal his corporate empire from right under his nose.
My father had brought his own private army to seize the medication, eliminate Sloane, and force my complete surrender.
He demanded that I bring the boys out of the car so he could formally introduce himself to his grandsons.
I refused to move, standing firmly between my family and the psychotic patriarch of the Sterling bloodline.
My father sighed heavily, clearly disappointed by my lack of total obedience.
He casually shifted his aim and shot one of Sloane's bodyguards in the knee to prove he was not bluffing.
The gunshot echoed like thunder across the empty airfield, causing the boys to scream from inside my car.
My father ordered me to sign the digital asset transfer on his tablet or he would destroy the medical cooler immediately.
I slowly walked toward him, pretending to reach into my pocket for a pen.
I knew my underground extraction team was already in position, waiting for my specific signal to strike.
I grabbed the digital tablet from my father's hand and deliberately threw it as hard as I could into the spinning engine of the private jet.
The tablet shattered into a million pieces, completely destroying the only copy of the transfer documents.
My father roared in absolute fury and raised his pistol directly toward my face.
Before he could pull the trigger, the heavy door of the private jet suddenly swung open.
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A frail, older man in a motorized wheelchair rolled out onto the top platform of the stairs.
It was my grandfather, the man I had believed was dead for the last three years.
