Chapter 326
“He’s dead,” Eliza said, her voice hollow. “I have nothing left to lose. I am going to bring his body home, or I am going to burn your entire world to the ground. Your choice.”
Another beat of silence, thick with rage.
“Fine,” Anson snarled. “Teterboro. Hangar 4. Go. Now.”
Eliza hung up.
She looked at Weston. “Let’s go.”
Three days later, the wind at Teterboro Airport was vicious, cutting through Eliza’s coat like a knife. For seventy-two hours, the world had been silent — no updates, no signals, no confirmation of life or death. The news cycle had moved on, but Eliza had remained suspended in a state of agonizing limbo. Now, a single cryptic text from Anson’s contact had summoned her here. The sky was a bruised purple, threatening storm.
Anson was waiting by a sleek, unmarked Learjet, leaning on his cane, his face pale with fury.
“You are insane,” Anson spat as Eliza climbed out of Weston’s car. “Threatening me with corporate espionage? For him?”
“For my family,” Eliza said. She didn’t look at him. She grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs.
Bella Rose ran out from the hangar, breathless.
“Eliza! Stop!” Bella grabbed Eliza’s arm. “You can’t go! It’s a war zone! You’re an art restorer, not a soldier!”
“Let go, Bella,” Eliza said, yanking her arm free. “Azalea is there. Dallas is there.”
“They’re probably dead!” Bella cried.
“Then I’ll bury them!”
Eliza put her foot on the first step.
Suddenly, sirens wailed. Three black SUVs tore across the tarmac and screeched to a halt in front of the plane.
Weston stepped out of the lead car, a radio in his hand.
“It’s a corporate lockdown!” Weston yelled over the wind. “Dallas’s final order! He’s grounded every private charter registered to S&D or any known Solomon asset. He put you on a no-fly list citing medical instability. We’re legally trapped!”
“What?” Eliza screamed. “Weston, you work for me!”
“I work for the family,” Weston shouted back. “I can’t let you die!”
“I’ll fly the plane myself!” Eliza lunged toward the cockpit.
“Wait,” Anson said. He pointed to the sky.
A low rumble shook the ground. A massive gray transport plane — a C-130 with a Red Cross painted on the tail — was descending.
“Medical evac,” Anson noted, his voice tight. “That’s a military flight. It’s not bound by civilian rules.”
Eliza froze. She watched the plane touch down, tires smoking, and taxi to the far end of the tarmac.
Then a second plane appeared. A Gulfstream G650. Pitch black. No tail numbers.
Weston looked at his phone. His eyes went wide.
“It’s the Ghost,” he whispered.
Eliza’s heart hammered against her ribs. He’s alive.
The Gulfstream taxied closer, stopping fifty yards away. The engines whined down. The door opened.
Eliza started running. She didn’t care about the wind, the cold, or Anson shouting her name. She ran toward the plane.