Turning the Husband

The engine roar made conversation impossible without the headsets, but the silence between us was heavier than the noise. I sat in the cramped rear seat, watching the back of Julian's neck. He was bleeding through the makeshift bandage, a dark stain spreading across his shoulder, but he didn't complain. He just stared at the instrument panel, his hands steady on the controls when Cole let him take them.

He wasn't the man I thought I married. He was weaker. And somehow, stronger.

I pulled the laptop out of my bag. I needed to know what we were flying into.

I opened the file Corinne had given me. The flight plan. But underneath it, she had slipped something else. A USB drive.

I plugged it in.

It was a backup of Arthur's personal correspondence. Not the business emails. The private ones.

I scrolled through the list. *Dr. Thorne. The Administrator. The Pilot.*

And then I saw it. A folder labeled simply: *Prenup.*

I clicked it.

It wasn't a standard prenuptial agreement. It was a deed of transfer.

*In the event of dissolution of marriage by reason of death or incapacity, all assets held by Margaret Hawthorne shall transfer immediately to the Arthur Hawthorne Revocable Trust.*

*Unless...*

I scrolled down.

*Unless there is a surviving male heir of direct lineage.*

I froze.

*Surviving male heir.*

That was why Arthur Jr. had to die. If Margaret had a son, the money went to him, not Arthur.

But Arthur Jr. died ten years ago.

So why keep Margaret alive? Why pay $12,500 a month to keep her in a cage instead of just killing her?

I looked at the date on the document. *1985.*

Then I looked at the amendment. *2015.*

*Clause 4: In the event of the incapacity of the heir, the Trust shall assume guardianship until such time as the heir reaches the age of majority.*

Arthur Jr. wasn't the only heir.

I looked at Julian.

He was the heir.

But Arthur had control of Julian's shares. He had power of attorney. How?

I searched the files for *Julian.*

I found a medical report. From when Julian was twelve. The year Arthur Jr. was born. The year he died.

*Patient: Julian Hawthorne.*
*Diagnosis: Acute Stress Reaction. Memory Suppression.*
*Treatment: Hypnotherapy. Pharmacological intervention.*

*Notes: Subject has been successfully conditioned to view the mother figure as a threat. The memory of the infant has been repressed.*

I gasped. The sound was loud over the headset.

Julian turned his head. "What is it?"

I couldn't speak. I just stared at him.

Arthur hadn't just lied to Julian. He had reprogrammed him. He had used drugs and therapy to erase his brother from his mind and turn him against his mother.

"Elena?"

I handed the laptop over the seat. "Read it," I said.

He took it. He read the screen.

I saw his hand shake. I saw him read it again.

"He drugged me," Julian whispered. "He made me forget."

"He stole your inheritance," I said. "And he made you help him bury the evidence."

Julian looked out the window at the endless dark ocean.

"He didn't just steal the money," he said. "He stole my soul."

He handed the laptop back. His face was hard. Cold.

"We're not just going to get the kids," he said to Cole. "We're going to kill him."

Cole laughed. "Get in line, kid."

But Julian wasn't laughing.

"How much fuel do we have?" he asked.

"Enough to get to San Juan," Cole said. "Why?"

"We're not going to San Juan," Julian said. "We're going to Georgetown."

"We don't have the range," Cole said. "We'll ditch in the ocean."

"Then we ditch," Julian said. "But we are not letting him land."

He pointed to the radar screen. A small blip was moving south, ahead of us.

Arthur's jet.

"Catch him," Julian said.

Cole looked at me. "He's crazy."

"He's a father," I said. "Do it."

Cole sighed. He pushed the throttle forward. The engines screamed.

"This is a one-way trip," he said.

"It always was," Julian said.

He looked back at me.

"I remember now," he said. "I remember the baby. I remember holding him."

Tears streamed down his face.

"He had my eyes, Elena. He had my eyes."

I reached out and squeezed his hand.

"We're going to get him back," I lied.

We weren't going to get the baby back. The baby was gone.

But we could get the man who killed him.

I looked at the blip on the radar. It was getting closer.

Arthur thought he was flying to freedom.

He didn't know he was being hunted by his own creation.

The money woke Julian up when the morality couldn't. But it was the memory of his brother that turned him into a weapon.

And we were aiming him straight at the heart of the Hawthorne empire.