Chapter 7 - Descent into the Alps
The private Gulfstream cut through the icy clouds above the Swiss Alps, banking sharply toward a private landing strip nestled between snow-capped peaks.
Inside the cabin, David sat by the window, watching the blinding white expanse of snow blur past. His thoughts weren't on the cold, nor on the international airspace laws they were skirting. His mind was back in the hospital room in Manhattan, where Lily was finally sleeping without nightmares, holding a stuffed rabbit given to her by little Leo.
The wheels touched down with a smooth screech against the cleared asphalt.
An hour later, a heavy black Mercedes SUV navigated the winding, snow-packed mountain roads leading to an isolated luxury chalet perched on the edge of a jagged cliff. Pine trees heavy with fresh powder framed the estate, and smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney.
“We have perimeter control,” Marcus murmured from the front passenger seat, checking the readout on a secure satellite tablet. “Two local security guards at the front gate. Thorne is inside with a female companion and a personal bodyguard.”
“No guns unless necessary,” David instructed coldly, pulling on heavy leather gloves. “I want him to know who’s collecting the debt.”
The SUV rolled silently up the private driveway, stopping right beside the chalet’s front steps.
Before the local guards could even step out from their heated security hut, Marcus and two of his operatives had moved with silent, devastating efficiency, neutralizing them without firing a single shot.
David stepped out into the freezing mountain air, his breath pluming white. He walked up the wooden steps, raised his hand, and pounded his fist twice against the heavy oak front door.
Bang. Bang.
Inside, voices stopped abruptly. Heavy footsteps approached the door.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
Julian Thorne—dressed in a cashmere sweater, holding a glass of wine—froze dead in his tracks. The color drained entirely from his face as he stared into David Vance’s cold, unblinking eyes.
“D-David?” Thorne stammered, dropping his wine glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor, dark red liquid splashing across his Italian leather shoes like blood. “How... how did you find me here?”
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David didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped forward, putting his hand squarely on Thorne’s chest and shoving him hard backward into the lavishly decorated living room.
“You didn't really think a four-million-dollar wire transfer and a plane ticket were enough to keep you safe from a father whose daughter you tried to bury, did you, Julian?” David whispered, stepping into the chalet as Marcus and his men filed in behind him, securing the exits.
