Chapter 11 - The Architect of the Fall
The room seemed to spin around me. The sound of rain beating against the massive skyscraper windows became a deafening roar.
"Richard Bennett didn't crash because of bad weather," I whispered, staring at the charred titanium casing. "He was sabotaged seven years ago."
"Yes," Marcus confirmed. "And here is the terrifying part: Julian Thorne didn't join Bennett Holdings until five years ago. Patricia didn't marry your father until four years ago. Neither of them had the security clearance or the technical knowledge to access the hydraulic fuel dump systems of a private Falcon 900 jet."
I stood up, pacing toward the window, looking down at the crawling yellow cabs fifty stories below. "Then who did?"
Marcus pulled out his secure phone and connected it to the desk monitor. A high-resolution scan of an old passenger manifest appeared on the screen.
"There were only three people aboard that flight seven years ago," Marcus said. "Your father. His personal pilot, who died on impact... and his chief legal counsel at the time."
I looked at the third name on the manifest.
*Dominic Vance.*
The breath caught in my throat. I turned around slowly, staring at Marcus.
"Dominic Vance," I repeated, my voice shaking with sudden dread. "Marcus... that's your uncle."
Marcus didn't flinch, but the muscle in his jaw twitched with cold, suppressed rage. "My uncle Dominic was Richard Bennett's most trusted advisor for twenty years. When the plane crashed, Dominic was pulled from the wreckage alive. Two months later, he vanished from public life, taking a hundred million dollars in consulting fees and transferring his private practice to a shadow firm in Zurich."
"You've known this?" I demanded, the sting of betrayal rising like bile in my throat. "You approached me two days ago pretending to be my father's loyal executor!"
"I approached you because I spent six years tracking Dominic's offshore trail!" Marcus said, taking a step toward me, his hands open, his voice fierce but completely honest. "Emily, my father—Dominic's younger brother—died of an intentional overdose the week after that crash because Dominic framed him for the missing company reserves! I took over this firm to burn Dominic to the ground!"
I stared at him, searching his dark eyes for any trace of deceit. There was none—only the same cold, burning thirst for retribution that had kept me alive in European logistics hubs while Patricia lived like a queen on my mother’s money.
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"Where is Dominic now?" I asked, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"He's not in Zurich," Marcus said, tapping the screen. A satellite tracking map zoomed in on a private estate nestled deep within the cliffs of coastal Maine. "He’s been hiding behind Arthur Sterling’s private defense umbrella. The moment Sterling was arrested this morning, Dominic activated his emergency transponder. He’s preparing to board a private submarine transport out of Penobscot Bay tonight."
