Chapter 42 - The Heir's Retribution
"They don't have authorization to fire over international waters without risking a global incident," I said, flipping the Northstar Sovereign Defense suite switches on the overhead panel.
"They don't care about incidents," Clara countered, her fingers furiously typing commands into the avionics keyboard. "They know you're at the controls. If you die here, the Vance bloodline ends, and the Sovereign Core defaults to Victoria’s proxy board."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the holographic chip, and slid it into the primary datalink socket on the captain's instrument panel.
*SOVEREIGN IDENTITY CONFIRMED: EMILY VANCE.*
*AUTHORITY LEVEL: OMNIPRESENT.*
The entire cockpit interface flared from standard green and amber to a brilliant, incandescent imperial blue. The screens reconfigured instantly, unveiling systems hidden beneath the civilian FAA certification masks.
*NORTHSTAR DEFENSIVE COUNTERMEASURES: ONLINE.*
*TACTICAL DATA LINK: CONNECTED TO STATION ICEFALL.*
A voice crackled over the secure cockpit speakers—not from the approaching fighters, but from the frozen ground hundreds of miles ahead.
*"Flight 01, this is Icefall Control. We see your tail and your pursuers. Break left to heading 330. We are activating the northern defensive umbrella."*
"Dad?" I whispered, my voice breaking.
*"Emily,"* the voice answered—deeper than I remembered, raspy with age and the cold of the polar wastes, but undeniably Arthur Vance. *"You flew that bird out of a dive just like I taught you. Hold your heading. Do not let those fighters separate you from the glide path."*
Behind us, Victoria stumbled into the cockpit entrance, clutching a bloody forehead, her expensive silk blouse ruined. When she heard the voice coming from the radio, her knees gave out, and she fell hard onto the metal deck.
"Arthur...?" she sobbed, terror completely consuming whatever remnants of pride she possessed. "Arthur, please! Julian forced me! They threatened to kill me!"
The radio went silent for two long beats. When Arthur spoke again, his voice was as cold as the Arctic ice below.
*"Victoria. I gave you my home, my name, and my trust. You repaid me by trying to destroy my daughter and selling my wife's location to the Core. When this plane lands, there will be no lawyers. There will be no bail. There will only be the ice."*
I looked back over my shoulder at the woman who had spent six years making me feel like garbage, who had laughed while I stood in the freezing rain handling her luggage, who had celebrated my father’s fake funeral with champagne.
May you like
"You wanted First Class, Victoria," I said, my tone as merciless as the winter wind outside. "Enjoy the arrival."
***
