Chapter 3 - The Blueprint of a Flight
The Seattle office of Callahan Bio-Tech was located on the forty-second floor of a steel-and-glass monolith overlooking Elliott Bay. When Arthur walked through the glass double doors forty-five minutes later, he didn't look like a retired film technician; he looked like a storm that had somehow found its way inside a high-end corporate suite.
Brennan was standing in the center of a massive conference room, surrounded by three men in dark, identical suits and a young woman who was rapidly typing on a triple-monitor workstation. Maps of the Pacific Northwest highway system were projected onto the smart-wall behind them, dotted with small, flashing blue markers representing state patrol transponders.
"Dad," Brennan said, rushing forward, his gray hoodie replaced by a wrinkled button-down shirt. "The state patrol can't issue an Amber Alert. Spencer is legally married to Lorraine, and she left the apartment voluntarily last night. Until we have proof of an immediate physical threat or a felony warrant, they can't set up roadblocks."
"We have proof of a million-dollar fraud, Brennan," Arthur said, tossing his car keys onto the glass conference table. "That’s a felony last time I checked."
"The attorneys are working on the emergency freeze order for the accounts now," one of the lawyers spoke up, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm. "But because the money was wired voluntarily by Brennan to an account that Lorraine had signature authority over, the bank requires a judicial review to declare it unauthorized access. That will take until at least two o'clock this afternoon."
"By two o'clock, Spencer will have them across the Oregon border and into a private marina," Arthur said, walking up to the smart-wall map. He squinted at the highways, his decades of logistics planning kicking in. "He’s not going to Seaside. Seaside is a tourist trap in the winter. It’s crowded, it’s got one main road in and out, and the local cops don't have anything better to do than run plates."
Brennan looked at his father, his brow furrowing. "Then why did he tell Madison they were going to Seaside?"
"Because Spencer’s smart enough to know the kid might talk, but he’s not smart enough to know how an old effects coordinator thinks," Arthur said, pointing his calloused finger at a spot further west along the Columbia River. "Look at this. Astoria. Then down to Warrenton. There are three private boat yards down there where you can buy a thirty-foot cabin cruiser with cash and no title check if you know the right people. Spencer’s family used to run a salvage operation out of Grays Harbor back in the nineties. He knows the coast."
The young woman at the workstation suddenly raised her hand. "Mr. Callahan... Brennan... I’ve got a ping on the tablet's location token. It just registered a cell tower handoff near Castle Rock. They’re averaging eighty-two miles an hour. If they stay on I-5 South, they’ll hit the Kelso junction in fifteen minutes."
"They're going to split off," Arthur said instantly. "He won't take I-5 into Vancouver or Portland. There are too many traffic cameras on the Interstate bridges. He’s going to take Highway 4 west toward Longview, then follow the river down to the coastal routes."
Brennan turned to the lawyers. "Can we get a private investigator down there? Someone to intercept?"
"The nearest contract firm we use is in Olympia," the lawyer replied, checking his watch. "They’d be an hour behind them at best."
"Then we go ourselves," Arthur said, turning toward the door.
"Dad, your truck won't make it past Longview at eighty miles an hour," Brennan said, reaching for his own jacket. "We take my car. But Dad... what happens when we catch them? Spencer isn't a rational guy. Last night, when Lorraine dropped that glass... the look he gave her wasn't the look of a husband who was embarrassed. It was the look of an investor whose asset just depreciated."
Arthur stopped at the threshold, his hand resting on the heavy brushed-aluminum door handle. He looked back at his billionaire son—the boy he had raised on movie sets, teaching him how to tell the difference between a controlled explosion and a dangerous fire.
"Spencer Hack is a grifter, Brennan," Arthur said softly. "I’ve spent forty years working with guys like him in Hollywood. Producers who think they can change the script halfway through shooting because they found a cheaper location. They look tough when they’re standing behind a desk or a contract, but the second the pyro goes off ahead of schedule, they run for the trailers. He’s running because he’s terrified of you, and he’s terrified of what happens when the money stops moving."
"Let's go," Brennan said.
As they rode the express elevator down to the underground garage, the silence between father and son grew thick. The initial shock of the dinner betrayal had settled into something more complex—the slow, agonizing realization that Lorraine had been living a double life for over a year.
"Did you notice anything, Dad?" Brennan asked quietly as the elevator passed the twentieth floor. "Over the holidays? She seemed... quiet, but I thought it was just the divorce from her ex."
"She asked me for five hundred dollars in October," Arthur said, his voice heavy with a regret that felt like lead in his stomach. "Said Madison needed braces. I gave it to her out of my savings. I thought... I thought things were tight because of the transition. If I had known she had nine hundred thousand dollars sitting in a shell account... if I had known Spencer was holding that over her head..."
"It wasn't her, Dad," Brennan said firmly as the doors slid open to reveal his silver Tesla Model S Plaid sitting in the executive bay. "Spencer’s had three separate fraud complaints filed against his real estate LLC in the last five years. All of them settled out of court with non-disclosure agreements. He targets women with assets or wealthy families. He found out I was running Bio-Tech, he married Lorraine within four months of the meeting, and three months after that, she suddenly discovers the 'perfect lake house' for you."
May you like
Arthur climbed into the passenger seat, the smooth, silent interface of the high-end vehicle humming to life around them. "He used her as a straw buyer. He knew you wouldn't audit your own sister."
"Yeah," Brennan said, his jaw tightening as he cleared the garage exit and tore onto the Seattle streets, the electric motor let out a low, predatory whine as it accelerated toward the southbound ramp. "But he forgot one thing. He forgot that the money he stole belongs to a family that knows exactly how to build a trap."
