Chapter 6 - Grounding the Falcon
Eleanor leaned forward, gripping Clara’s forearm. “Adrian!” she snapped across the terrace.
Adrian Cole, sitting on the floor with his tie undone and mascara running from his panicked tears, scrambled up on all fours. “Y-yes, Mrs. Sterling?”
“Julian is using the Gulfstream G650 registered under the Sterling Maritime Holdings subsidiary, isn't he?”
Adrian swallowed hard and nodded rapidly. “Yes! Yes, tail number November-Eight-Eight-Seven-Sierra-Tango! He had the pilot on standby all afternoon!”
Eleanor turned to Clara. “Hand me my phone from my purse.”
Clara pulled Eleanor’s jewel-encrusted phone from her clutch and handed it over. Eleanor didn't dial the police. She didn't dial a lawyer. She dialed a direct, ten-digit private line.
The phone rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered. “Director’s office.”
“Harold,” Eleanor said without preamble. “This is Eleanor Sterling.”
There was an immediate shift on the other end of the line. “Eleanor? What’s wrong? You sound breathless.”
“Harold, you’ve been chairman of the Port Authority and FAA Regional Command for twelve years because my family backed your confirmation. I need a Class-A emergency ground stop on runway Four-Left at JFK immediately. Tail number N887ST.”
A pause lingered on the line. “Eleanor, shutting down an active runway at JFK requires an imminent national security threat or catastrophic mechanical hazard.”
“My son is currently on that aircraft carrying four hundred million dollars of stolen treasury bonds, and he is fleeing an active federal indictment for attempted murder on my life,” Eleanor said, her tone devoid of emotion. “If that plane’s tires leave the tarmac, Harold, I will hold a press conference at dawn and release twenty-five years of campaign contribution ledgers that will drag half the Senate into federal court. Ground the plane.”
There was a three-second silence.
“Runway Four-Left is closed effective immediately,” the voice replied. “Emergency response vehicles are intercepting the aircraft now.”
Eleanor ended the call and lowered the phone. She looked at Clara.
May you like
“Go to JFK, Clara,” Eleanor said softly. “Finish what your mother started. Take the marshals. Take the badges. Bring Julian back in chains. And when you’re done... come find me at Mount Sinai. We have twenty-four years of lost time to reclaim.”
Clara nodded firmly. She squeezed Eleanor’s shoulder once, turned on her heel, and sprinted toward the terrace exit, accompanied by the federal tactical team.
