“Can we stop it?” I asked.

Vance pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialed a direct line.

“This is Vance,” he said into the receiver. “I need the duty manager at Jet Aviation Teterboro.”

He waited, his thumb tapping against the side of his phone.

“We have an unauthorized departure attempting to board,” Vance said. “The passenger is Grant Mercer.”

He listened for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“Understood,” Vance said, hanging up. “The aircraft is a Gulfstream G-four. It’s already on the tarmac.”

“We need to get there,” I said.

“The highway is clear this time of night,” Vance said. “We can make it in twenty-five minutes.”

Lena grabbed her briefcase from the chair, her coat already draped over her arm.

“I’m coming with you,” she said. “If the Port Authority holds him, we need the federal warrants present.”

We hurried down the back stairs of Darrow House.

The cold November air hit my face as we stepped out onto the gravel driveway.

Vance’s black SUV was waiting, its engine idling with a low rumble.

We climbed into the back seat, and Vance immediately accelerated down the drive.