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Chapter 6 - The Ghost Train to PortlandThe regional commuter flight from JFK to Portland, Maine, was cramped, noisy, and smelled faintly of stale coffee and damp wool—a stark, jarring contrast to the plush leather upholstery of his private Gulfstream. But Alexander hadn't used his private jet.

He had spent the two-hour flight dissecting every memory of his marriage, searching for the exact moment the foundation had cracked.

Was it the night he stayed late in the boardroom while she sat alone at a table set for two? Was it the anniversary he missed because of a hostile takeover in Frankfurt? Or was it the quiet erosion of thousands of small absences—the way he looked at his phone while she spoke, the way her laughter slowly faded from the hallways of the Manhattan penthouse until silence became the loudest thing in the room?

When the plane touched down at Portland International Jetport, a cold, biting drizzle was falling.

Alexander rented a nondescript sedan at the terminal—no driver, no security detail, no corporate entourage. Just a man in a rumpled suit driving north toward Ellsworth and the rugged coast of Acadia.

The GPS screen glowed softly in the dashboard, mapping out a route he used to know by heart a decade ago, back when they were young, broke, and infinitely rich in everything that couldn't be bought.

By the time he reached the outskirts of Bar Harbor, midnight had settled over the coast. The wind was howling off the dark ocean, whipping the pine trees against the sides of the road.

He pulled the car off the main highway onto a narrow, unpaved coastal track that led down to Otter Cliff—the exact spot where they had stood eleven years ago on their honeymoon, watching the sunrise break over the crashing waves.

The headlights cut through the swirling fog, illuminating a small, weathered wooden cabin nestled among the rocks. A single yellow light burned in the front window, cutting through the dark like a beacon.

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Alexander cut the engine. The sudden silence inside the car was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic, thunderous roar of the ocean against the granite cliffs outside.

His hands shook slightly as he opened the car door and stepped out into the freezing Maine rain.

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