Chapter 5 - The Flight to Monaco
The private jet sliced through the midnight clouds above the Atlantic, its cabin bathed in a dim, amber glow. Adrian sat alone in the leather-lined compartment, the flash drive glowing softly inside a laptop before him.
The data on the drive was a digital confession. Julian had not only documented the financial embezzlement and the purchase of the accelerant, but he had also saved audio recordings of his phone calls with the corrupt local fire inspector who had falsified the investigation report. Julian’s ego was his fatal flaw; he had kept a digital trophy case of his greatest crime, believing Adrian was too broken by grief to ever look back at the financial records.
Marcus entered the cabin quietly, carrying a cup of black coffee and placing it beside Adrian’s hand.
“We touch down in Nice in four hours, sir,” Marcus reported. “Local authorities have already been briefed through confidential channels. The Monegasque police are cooperating, but Vance has diplomatic immunity ties through a dummy advisory board position. We need to move carefully.”
“Diplomatic immunity won’t save him from what I have in mind,” Adrian replied without looking up from the screen. His eyes were bloodshot, etched with four years of sleepless nights, but the fog of depression had been burned away by a searing, laser-focused rage.
“Sir, if I may,” Marcus hesitated. “When we get him… what happens next?”
“He faces a court of law, Marcus,” Adrian said coldly. “I am not a killer. But I will make sure he spends the rest of his natural life in a cell so dark he will beg for the fire.”
Marcus nodded once. He respected Adrian’s restraint. For a man who had lost everything, holding back the beast required superhuman strength.
“By the way, sir,” Marcus added, offering a faint, unprecedented smile. “I received a text from Mrs. Gable back at the estate. She said Lucy insisted on helping bake cookies for the staff to thank them for her morning milk. She told everyone that you are a ‘knight in a black coat who fights dragons.’”
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Adrian stopped typing. A strange, unfamiliar warmth brushed against his ribs. A knight. If only she knew how many scars he carried beneath that armor.
“Focus on the target, Marcus,” Adrian muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward just a fraction.
