Chapter 13 - The Handcuffs Snap on the Chief of Police as Arthur's Private Jet Is Grounded
While the courtroom in El Paso was delivering its historic judgment, the final remnants of the Vance corruption network in San Jeronimo were being systematically excised.
At the San Jeronimo Municipal Airport, a sleek Gulfstream G550 private jet sat on the tarmac with its twin turbines screaming at idle.
Arthur Vance, having slipped away from the courthouse during the post-hearing confusion using a forged medical emergency pass, arrived at the private hangar in a nondescript commercial delivery van.
He was carrying two heavy duffel bags packed with eight million dollars in bearer bonds, gold bullion, and four forged diplomatic passports. His destination was a non-extradition country in South America where he had maintained private real estate holdings for twenty years.
He ran up the mobile airstair, sweating profusely, his expensive suit soaked with perspiration.
“Close the door! Get us airborne now!” Arthur screamed at the pilot as he stepped into the luxury cabin.
The pilot didn't turn around.
Instead, the cockpit door opened, and two United States Marshals stepped out into the aisle, their sidearms drawn and leveled directly at Arthur’s chest.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Vance?” one of the Marshals asked smoothly.
Arthur dropped his duffel bags, the gold bullion clattering heavily against the carpeted floor. He backed toward the open cabin door, his face pale with horror.
Standing at the bottom of the airstair on the tarmac was Agent Sarah Lin, accompanied by four Texas State Troopers.
“Arthur Vance,” Agent Lin called out through a megaphone. “Your flight plan has been canceled by the Federal Aviation Administration. Step down the stairs with your hands on your head.”
Arthur looked around the empty runway. There were no friendly judges to call. There were no corrupt deputies to clear the road. His billions of dollars were frozen, his private army was behind bars, and his own wife had signed the confession that guaranteed he would spend the rest of his life inside the federal Supermax facility in Florence, Colorado.
He slowly raised his trembling hands above his head and walked down the steel steps into the waiting handcuffs.
Simultaneously, in the center of San Jeronimo, the municipal police department was being cleared out by fifty Texas State Troopers and federal investigators.
Chief Hector Miller was led out of the front doors of the station in full view of the town’s residents and local news cameras. His gold badge was gone, replaced by heavy chrome chain restraints connecting his wrists to his waist belt.
Beside him were Deputy Jenkins and two county magistrates who had accepted Arthur’s bribes to suppress domestic violence and assault charges over the last decade.
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The citizens of San Jeronimo stood on the sidewalks in stunned silence, watching the corrupt machine that had oppressed their valley for forty years get dismantled and loaded into prisoner transport vans.
The reign of the Vance dynasty was officially, irrevocably over.
