Chapter 13 - The Confrontation In The VIP Lounge
The humid Miami air hit my face as our private charter jet landed at the airport at three o’clock the following morning.
Escorted by three armed federal marshals and David Croft, I walked into the quiet, carpeted executive lounge of the international terminal.
Sarah Sterling sat on a leather sofa, holding a glass of expensive champagne, surrounded by four designer Louis Vuitton suitcases.
When she looked up and saw me walking toward her—wrapped in medical compression bandages under my dark coat—her champagne glass slipped from her hand.
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The crystal shattered against the marble floor, splashing sparkling wine across her thousand-dollar white leather shoes.
“Sarah Sterling,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the empty lounge. “I believe you’re holding a briefcase that belongs to my family.”
