11:50 am P
The CEO Above My Desk
Chapter 241
Marcus Hale
Airports had always fascinated me.
Not because of planes.
Not because of travel.
Because airports were one of the few places left where people willingly overwhelmed themselves. Thousands of strangers moved through the same space every hour, all operating on schedules and routines and blind trust. Families dragged suitcases through terminals. Businessmen yelled into phones. Kids cried because they were tired. Security barked instructions nobody actually listened to.
Controlled chaos.
And chaos created blind spots.
Blind
spots kept people alive.
Or got them killed.
I adjusted the brim of my baseball cap wer while standing near the crosswalk outside Portland International Airport, waiting for the signal to change. Cars rolled slowly past in front of me while travelers unloaded luggage beneath the covered drop–off area. A little girl laughed somewhere to my right while her father struggled with three oversized suitcases and a stroller.
Normal people. Oblivious people. People who spent their entire lives believing bad things happened to somebody else.
Lucky them.
The light changed and the crowd moved together. I stepped forward naturally, blending into the mass of bodies around me without effort. Head
slightly down. Shoulders relaxed. Nothing rushed.
That was where people screwed up. People panicked. People acted nervous. People looked over their shoulders. People ran. And people who ran
got caught.
The airport doors slid open and cool air wrapped around me immediately. Bright lights reflected off polished floors while conversations overlapped from every direction. Flight announcements echoed through the terminal overhead.
Everything looked normal. Everything felt normal. No police. No agents. No alarms.
Good.
I walked toward one of the self–check kiosks and scanned my information. A few seconds later my boarding pass slid out.
Still good.
No security flags. No alerts. No little red warning flashing across a screen somewhere.
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11:51 am p
Chapter 241
I smiled faintly.
See?
People relied too much on systems. Systems were predictable. Systems followed rules. Rules had loopholes.
Check–in took less than two minutes.
The woman behind the counter barely glanced at me. “ID please.”
I handed it over. She scanned it. Smiled. “You’re all set.”
Perfect.
Security was even easier. Shoes off. Bag through the scanner. Walk through the detector. No beeping. No secondary screening. No delays.
Just like I expected.
I grabbed my backpack and headed toward Terminal C.
Honolulu.
Just a few more hours. A few more hours and Rowan Ashcroft’s life would finally end.
Honestly, the guy irritated the hell out of me. Not because of his money. Not because of the penthouse or the cars or the companies.
No.
People always assumed jealousy. People were stupid.
I hated Rowan because people like Rowan weren’t supposed to exist.
Guys with money weren’t supposed to actually care.
They weren’t supposed to give a damn about homeless housing projects or struggling families or fixing neighborhoods.
They were supposed to write checks and smile for cameras and move on with their lives. That was how the world worked. That was how it had always worked.
Then Rowan Ashcroft had shown up acting like he could save people. Acting like he could fix things. Acting like he could matter,
I almost laughed. Because men like him always thought they were heroes.
Heroes always thought they were untouchable. Until they bled.
Half a million dollars wasn’t bad either. Not bad at all.
Then his little wife? Another two hundred fifty thousand.
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11:51 am p
Chapter 241
Seven hundred and fifty grand total. Enough to clear debts. Enough to own people. Enough to finally breathe.
I adjusted the backpack over my shoulder and turned toward the terminal hallway.
Then stopped immediately. Everything inside me dropped.
Because suddenly… I recognized faces. One leaning near a coffee stand. Another pretending to scroll through his phone. One sitting near the windows. Another standing beside the information desk.
FBI.
Every single one of them. Not random agents either. People I knew. People I’d worked with. People I’d had drinks with after long cases. People I’d sat beside during briefings.
And none of them were searching. They weren’t looking around. They were looking at me. Waiting.
Shit.
One lifted a hand toward his ear. Another shifted slightly.
Then a familiar figure stepped forward. Special Agent Derek Vaughn. Calm expression. Hands visible. Slow movements.
The kind of approach you used when somebody was dangerous.
“Marcus.” His voice stayed level. Professional. Controlled. “We don’t need to do this.”
My heart started pounding harder.
No.
No no no.
I took one step back. Instant regret.
Hands grabbed both my arms immediately. Hard.
Metal snapped around my wrists.
I twisted sharply. “What the hell-
Assistant Special Agent in Charge Albert Arte stood beside me, tightening the cuffs.
Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.
Arte?
Seriously?
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11:51 am P
Chapter 241
Arte turned me around without effort. “Marcus Hale, you are under arrest.”
People had started staring now. Phones coming out. Whispers spreading. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
Then he started reading my rights.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
I stared straight ahead.
No fighting. No point. Because they didn’t send Arte unless they already had enough.
Then I heard the charges. “…attempted murder…”
My head immediately snapped toward him. What?
“…domestic terrorism…”
What?!
“…conspiracy…”
I stared at him. Actually stared at him.
“Attempted murder?” I snapped.
Arte looked completely unimpressed. “Multiple counts.”
“…Multiple?!”
I stared at Arte for several seconds while he finished reading my rights, but honestly I wasn’t hearing most of it anymore.
Because my brain had already moved somewhere else.
This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
I knew procedure. Knew timelines. Knew investigation patterns. Knew how evidence moved through the system.
Hell, I knew how federal panic moved through the system.
And this? This wasn’t adding up.
Arte tightened his grip on my arm slightly and started guiding me through the terminal.
How?
How the hell did they know?
4/6
11:51 am P
Chapter 241
Hargrove wouldn’t have talked. No. Absolutely not. That woman would’ve burned the entire city to the ground before selling people out.
Hell, she was the one who came to me in the first place.
I could still remember that conversation. That cold look in her eyes.
“Rowan Ashcroft has become a problem.”
Simple. Direct. No emotion. Like she was talking about replacing a broken printer.
I clenched my jaw.
No. Not Hargrove. Not a chance.
Then suddenly…. My entire body went still.
Asher That little bastard. That fucking weasel.
My jaw tightened so hard my teeth hurt.
Of course.
Of course it was him.
Because the second things got hard, Asher folded. The second prison became real, he probably rolled over and handed them everything with a neat little fucking bow on top.
I laughed quietly under my breath.
Arte glanced toward me. “What?”
I looked at him slowly. “Asher talked.”
Arte didn’t answer. Didn’t react. Didn’t blink.
But that silence? That silence told me everything.
My stomach twisted violently.
Suddenly every conversation came rushing back.
Every time Asher asked too many questions. Every time he hesitated. Every nervous look. Every damn thing.
I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known.
Because weak people always broke eventually. And Asher was weak, just like Rowan.
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