Chapter 9 - The Final Reckoning at 30,000 FeetTwo hours later, soaring through the dark midnight skies above the Rocky Mountains, Julian Vance’s private Gulfstream jet hummed smoothly on autopilot. Julian sat in a leather-upholstered executive chair, swirling a glass of expensive bourbon, smiling as he watched the digital flight tracker approach Canadian airspace.
"Voss is good," Julian muttered to his chief pilot seated up front. "He tore through the Cross family like a wildfire. But he’s arrogant. He thinks he can play chess with the Syndicate."
Before the pilot could reply, the cabin lights flickered once and died, plunging the interior into pitch blackness. Red emergency backup strips illuminated the floor with a sterile, crimson glow.
"What the hell?" Julian snapped, standing up. "Check the electrical panel!"
The pilot frantically flipped switches on the dashboard. "Sir! Our navigational systems are locked! Remote override engaged!"
The heavy armored cockpit door slid open with a soft hiss.
Julian turned around, his glass slipping from his hand and shattering against the carpeted floor.
Standing in the doorway was Adrian Voss. He wasn't wearing a coat; his black shirt was fitted tightly to his powerful shoulders, his hands tucked casually into his trousers. Behind him stood two armed security operatives holding the flight crew immobilized against the bulkhead.
"How... how did you get up here?" Julian stammered, his face turning pale as death, his hands trembling. "Our flight plan was confidential! No one knew!"
Adrian stepped into the cabin, closing the distance between them with slow, measured strides. "Julian Vance. You really thought you could send an assassin into my nursery and walk away to Zurich?"
Julian backed up until his legs hit the back of his chair, panic completely overwhelming his composure. "It was business! Just business! You took the Cross ports—they belonged to our syndicate!"
Adrian stopped right in front of him, towering over the older man by half a foot. His eyes burned with a dark, terrifying intensity.
"Everything in the West belongs to me," Adrian said softly, his voice echoing cleanly in the pressurized cabin. "And anyone who touches my family... ceases to exist."
Julian lunged forward with a hidden switchblade, aiming a desperate slash at Adrian’s throat.
In a fraction of a second, Adrian moved with blinding speed. He caught Julian’s wrist mid-air, twisted it with a sickening pop that broke the bone, and slammed Julian down onto the executive table. The blade clattered uselessly across the floor.
Adrian leaned down, his lips brushing against Julian’s ear as the older man wept in agony.
"Tell me, Julian," Adrian whispered, his voice like ice. "Do you prefer drowning in the ocean, or falling from thirty thousand feet?"
May you like
Julian didn't answer. He had already passed out from the sheer terror and pain.
Adrian stood up straight, straightening his cuffs. He looked at his chief of security. "Turn the plane around. Drop him off at the federal penitentiary gates in Montana. Let him share a cell with Damon Cross. They’ll have a lot to talk about."
