Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
The private terminal at the municipal airfield was quiet under the overcast Saturday sky.
Marcus had arranged for local authorities and federal marshals to monitor the departure gates, but I hadn't come to watch Julian get arrested by strangers. I wanted him to see who was standing at the finish line.
My sedan pulled up beside the tarmac fence just as a sleek charter jet was spooling its turbines. Through the chain-link barrier, I saw Julian walking across the pavement, dragging a heavy leather duffel bag behind him. He was dressed in a dark hoodie and sunglasses, trying desperately to blend in, but his nervous, darting glances betrayed him.
I stepped out of the car, pushed open the maintenance gate using the security clearance Marcus had secured through Apex’s corporate transport division, and walked directly onto the tarmac.
“Julian!” I called out.
The wind from the jet engines whipped my hair across my face, but my voice carried clearly enough. Julian froze. He turned around slowly, pulling down his sunglasses. When he saw it was me, the initial look of panic morphed into a bitter, snarling sneer.
“What are you doing here, Liv?” he shouted over the roar of the engines. “Come to gloat some more? Go back to your billionaire bosses.”
I walked toward him until we were standing ten feet apart, the smell of jet fuel heavy in the cool air.
“You filed an injunction claiming I stole your code,” I said calmly, crossing my arms. “And yet here you are, running for a private charter flight with a duffel bag full of offshore bearer bonds and falsified deeds.”
“I'm protecting what's mine,” Julian snapped, his face flushing red with fury. “You ruined everything! Dad built that company for me! You sat there in your cheap clothes and acted like you were better than everyone, while I carried the weight of this family on my back!”
“You didn't carry anything, Julian,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “Dad carried you. And when the weight got too heavy, you stole from him, lied to him, and let him take the blame so you could buy a sports car and play high-stakes poker.”
Julian lunged forward a step, his fists clenched at his sides. For a second, I saw the exact expression our father used to wear when an argument didn't go his way—the ugly, desperate rage of a man whose entitlement was being challenged.
“You think you won?” Julian hissed, his voice trembling with venom. “You think Apex cares about you? You're just a tech asset to them, Liv. The moment your code is integrated, they'll spit you out just like Dad did.”
“Maybe,” I replied, holding his gaze without a flinch. “Or maybe I built something real, while you built a house out of forged signatures.”
Before he could answer, two federal marshals stepped out from behind the hangar wall, their badges catching the gray light.
“Julian Williams?” one of them called out, stepping onto the tarmac. “Step away from the bag, please.”
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Julian’s head whipped around. He looked at the marshals, then back at me, realization finally crashing down with absolute, crushing finality. He didn't run. He let his leather duffel bag drop to the concrete with a heavy thud, his shoulders collapsing inward as the marshals moved in to snap the cuffs around his wrists.
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