Chapter 4 - Midnight in TorontoThousands of miles away, the freezing Canadian wind whipped across the tarmac of Toronto Pearson International Airport as the Hale Air Gulfstream taxied smoothly toward a private hangar.
Inside the cabin, Amara sat gripping a steaming cup of black coffee provided by the flight attendant. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles bruising the pale skin beneath them. For the entire two-hour flight, she hadn't slept. She had stared out the small oval window at the dark expanse of the Atlantic, replaying every moment of the past twenty-four hours in her head.
Her mother was gone.
Her passport had been shredded by a woman who viewed human beings as disposable furniture.
And Everett Hale—the billionaire owner of the estate where she had spent three years scrubbing floors and serving breakfast—had torn up his own multi-million-dollar wedding, fired his fiancée, and bought a jet to send her home.
The cabin door hissed open. A blast of sub-zero Canadian air rushed inside.
"We've arrived, Ms. Bennett," the pilot announced respectfully, holding out her heavy wool coat—a cashmere garment that Claire Walsh had personally pulled from the guest closet before takeoff. "Ground transportation is waiting at the foot of the stairs. A private security escort will take you directly to St. Michael’s Hospital."
Amara stood up, her legs shaking slightly. She pulled the heavy cashmere coat around her shoulders. It smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne—Everett’s scent.
When she stepped off the metal stairs onto the tarmac, a black Lincoln Navigator was idling with its doors open. Standing beside the rear door was not a local driver, but a tall, broad-shouldered man in a heavy black parka holding a clipboard.
"Amara Bennett?" the man asked as she approached.
"Yes."
"I’m Liam Vance, head of international security for Hale Holdings. Mr. Hale instructed me to place myself and my team at your complete disposal while you are in Canada."
Amara blinked, overwhelmed. "Mr. Hale didn't have to do all of this. I can take a cab to the hospital."
Liam smiled gently—a reassuring expression that didn't match his intimidating physique. "Mr. Hale is very thorough, Ms. Bennett. Get in. Your brother is waiting for you."
Twenty minutes later, the Navigator slid to a halt outside the emergency entrance of St. Michael’s Hospital.
As Amara pushed through the sliding glass doors into the sterile, fluorescent-lit waiting room, she spotted him immediately.
Daniel Bennett sat on a plastic chair in the corner, his head bowed into his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent, exhausted sobs. He was wearing the same faded college hoodie he had worn three years ago when she dropped him off at his bus stop. He looked so small—so impossibly young.
"Daniel," Amara choked out.
Her brother’s head snapped up. His eyes were red, swollen, and wild with grief.
"Amara?" he whispered, scrambling up from the chair. "How... how did you get here? Your passport—the agency said it would take a week to get an emergency appointment—"
Amara didn't answer with words. She ran across the linoleum floor and threw her arms around her little brother, burying her face in his shoulder as the dam broke and she finally allowed herself to weep.
"I'm here, Dani," she sobbed, holding him tighter than she had ever held anything in her life. "I'm here. I'm not leaving."
Standing ten feet away, hands folded neatly behind his back, Liam Vance watched the siblings quietly. He tapped his earpiece, connecting directly to a secure satellite line linking back to Charleston, South Carolina.
"Mr. Hale," Liam murmured softly.
“Go ahead, Liam,” Everett’s voice came back instantly, clear despite the distance.
"She has made contact with her brother. Situation is secure at the hospital."
There was a brief pause on the line.
“And the duplex?” Everett asked.
"Local operatives are already outside the North Charleston property. Sterling Capital’s foreclosure agents arrived five minutes ago with eviction papers. My team is waiting for your final word."
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Everett’s voice dropped an octave, carrying a cold, crushing authority that made even the battle-hardened security chief stand a little straighter.
"Lock them out," Everett said. "And buy the entire mortgage outright. I want every single piece of paper bearing Richard Sterling’s name on that deed burned to ash."
