Chapter 13 - The Ghost on the Horizon
Two weeks after the proposal, the preparations for our wedding at Adrian's historic coastal estate in Newport, Rhode Island, were well underway. The global media hailed it as the wedding of the century—a true romance forged through fire and triumph.
It was a serene Sunday afternoon. Adrian was inside his private study finalizing the foundation trusts we were setting up for injured veterans, while I sat in the glass sunroom overlooking the crashing Atlantic waves, reviewing the guest list with Marcus.
"Security for the estate is ironclad, Elena," Marcus assured me, handing me a digital manifest. "Every guest will be verified through three tiers of biometric checkpoints. We have coastal patrol vessels circling the cove."
"Thank you, Marcus," I smiled, admiring the sapphire glittering on my left hand. "For everything you've done for Adrian... and for me."
"You brought him back to life, ma'am," Marcus said warmly. "Protecting you is an honor."
Marcus's secure phone vibrated against his belt. He excused himself, stepping toward the french doors to answer.
"Yes?" Marcus said.
As Marcus listened to the voice on the other end, I watched his face drain of all color. The relaxed, confident demeanor he had carried for the past month vanished instantly. His posture became rigid, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone.
"When?" Marcus demanded in a harsh whisper. "Are you certain?"
He ended the call and turned back toward me, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"Marcus?" I asked, my smile fading as an icy dread settled into the pit of my stomach. "What happened? Is something wrong with my father?"
"No, Elena. Your father is fine," Marcus said quietly. "It's... it's about the Ohio plane crash."
"What about it? Arthur Sterling is dead, and the files were closed."
Marcus took a step closer, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry into Adrian’s study. "The National Transportation Safety Board just completed a secondary microscopic metallurgical analysis on the engine components recovered from the wreckage."
"And?"
"The bomb that destroyed the left turbine... it wasn't triggered by Captain Miller. Nor was it ordered by Arthur Sterling," Marcus said, his voice trembling slightly. "The detonator was linked to a military satellite encrypted under a private security frequency belonging to the Vance Defense Group."
My heart stopped beating.
*The Vance Defense Group.* My family's ancestral company—the company that had gone bankrupt ten years ago after my uncle supposedly died in an overseas yacht accident.
"That's impossible," I stammered, rising to my feet, my head spinning. "My family lost everything! My uncle died a decade ago!"
"Elena," Marcus said, holding out his tablet. "The satellite signal that detonated Adrian's plane didn't come from a ghost server. It was transmitted from an active IP address twenty minutes ago."
Marcus tapped the screen. A satellite surveillance feed flickered into focus, showing a luxury yacht anchored just three miles off the Newport coastline, shrouded in the coastal fog.
On the teak deck of the yacht stood a man with silver hair, an eyepatch, and a silver double-headed serpent ring gleaming on his finger, looking directly toward Adrian's estate through a pair of binoculars.
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Beneath the image was an encrypted text message received by Marcus's phone only seconds ago:
*Tell my dear niece Elena that blood is thicker than marriage. And tell Adrian Vale... the true architect of his destruction has finally come home to attend the wedding.*