They Poisoned My Father, So I Bankrupted Their Billion-Dollar Empire

Chapter 27: The Flight

"He has a private airfield," Jack said, sprinting down the courthouse steps, ripping off his tie. "North of the factory. He uses it for executive retreats."

"I'm calling the Marshals," Elena said, running beside him in her heels. "We can get a flight restriction."

"Too slow!" Jack yelled. He jumped into his battered pickup truck. "I can cut him off at the pass."

He revved the engine. The truck roared to life, a stark contrast to the quiet luxury cars of the lawyers.

Jack floored it. He wove through traffic, running red lights, heading toward the industrial district. He knew the back roads—he had built half of them.

He saw it in the distance. A black armored Mercedes speeding toward the airstrip gates. Beyond the fence, a private jet was spooling its engines, ready for charter departure.

"He's going for a non-extradition country," Jack muttered, gripping the wheel.

The Mercedes smashed through the chain-link gate. Jack didn't brake. He swerved onto the dirt shoulder, kicking up a cloud of dust, and gunned it toward the runway intersection.