Chapter 37 - The Skyward Passage
Twelve hours later, Sloan and Veta were cruising at forty-one thousand feet aboard a Gulfstream V provided by the United States Department of Justice Protective Operations Division.
Outside the oval window, the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean glinted like hammered silver in the late afternoon sun. Kieran sat across from Sloan, reviewing a massive binder of sealed exoneration documents, while Veta slept peacefully on the reclining leather berth, her chest rising and falling to the soft, steady rhythm of the auxiliary oxygen unit.
Sloan watched her daughter’s face. For the first time in twelve years, the perpetual lines of strain around Veta’s eyes had smoothed out. The dark circles of chronic oxygen deprivation were already beginning to fade.
"You look like you're still waiting for an alarm to go off," Kieran said gently, closing his binder and sliding a glass of sparkling water across the table to Sloan.
Sloan looked down at her hands. "Twelve years, Kieran. Twelve years of waking up every two hours to check her pressure gauges. Twelve years of listening for a cough that might turn into pneumonia. Twelve years of being told by doctors, by judges, by my ex-husband’s wretched family that I was delusional, that Veta was a lost cause, that I should just let her be institutionalized."
She swallowed hard, tears brimming in her eyes. "How do you turn off that kind of terror?"
"You don't turn it off," Kieran answered softly, his gaze steady and filled with profound respect. "You survived it. You fought an entire billionaire cartel and a pack of sociopathic relatives, and you beat them at their own game. You didn't just keep her alive, Sloan. You gave her the weapons to fight back."
Marcus emerged from the cockpit, a secure satellite phone in his hand. He looked down at Sloan with a faint, rare smile. "We just entered Swiss airspace. Lucerne air traffic control has cleared us for direct approach to the cantonal medical helipad."
Sloan stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Is he there?"
"He has been on the tarmac for two hours," Marcus replied. "The Swiss Federal Police have secured the perimeter. There are no cameras. No press. Just David."
Veta stirred on the berth, blinking against the cabin light. She sat up slowly, adjusting her nasal cannula, and looked out the window.
Rising through the sea of clouds below them were the jagged, snow-capped peaks of the Swiss Alps, majestic and eternal, gleaming gold in the setting sun.
"We're here," Veta whispered, her eyes wide with wonder.
May you like
"Yes, baby," Sloan said, sitting beside her and taking her small, warm hand into both of hers. "We're finally here."
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