Chapter 14 - THE CABIN.
The cargo hold was freezing, filled with row upon row of securely strapped luggage and heavy crates.
I crawled through the narrow passage, moving silently toward the maintenance access panel that led up to the passenger cabin.
Pushing the panel aside, I hoisted myself up into a small supply closet located at the rear of the aircraft.
I checked the magazine of my pistol, noting with grim satisfaction that I had exactly three rounds left.
Three rounds were more than enough to end a family feud that had spanned two generations.
I kicked the closet door open, stepping out into the luxurious, mahogany-paneled aisle of the private jet.
The cabin was silent, heavily soundproofed against the roar of the massive jet engines outside.
Two of my mother’s elite personal guards were stationed at the front of the cabin, their backs currently turned to me.
I raised my weapon, but before I could pull the trigger, a voice cut through the tense silence.
"Lower the gun, Evelyn, or the pilot depressurizes the cabin at thirty thousand feet."
I froze, my blood running cold as Eleanor stepped out from the private suite at the front of the plane.
She was wearing an immaculate charcoal suit, her silver hair styled perfectly, looking exactly as she had in the interrogation room footage.
She didn't look surprised to see me; she looked mildly disappointed, like a teacher correcting a stubborn student.
"Where is Lily?" I demanded, keeping my weapon trained firmly on the center of her chest.
"Lily is perfectly safe, experiencing the kind of luxury and education you maliciously tried to deny her," Eleanor replied smoothly.
She gestured toward the open door of the suite, where I could see a small pair of legs dangling from a plush leather chair.
My heart leaped into my throat, a suffocating wave of relief washing over me at the sight of my daughter.
"Let her go, Eleanor, or I swear I will put a bullet right between your eyes," I hissed.
"You won't," my mother smiled, a terrifyingly cold expression that lacked any human warmth.
"Because if my heart stops beating, the dead-man's switch I am holding will detonate the explosive charge wired to the main fuel line."
She raised her left hand, revealing a small, black electronic detonator gripped tightly in her palm.
"We both die, the crew dies, and my beautiful granddaughter burns in the sky," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Checkmate, my dear."
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I stared at the small device, the terrifying reality of her flawless, psychopathic calculus crashing down upon me.
She hadn't just anticipated my survival; she had orchestrated this entire scenario to trap me in a cage I could not shoot my way out of.
