Chapter 7: Descent into Palm Beach
The captain’s voice interrupted their quiet reckoning. “Folks, we’re beginning our descent into West Palm Beach International. Weather is clear, temperature is seventy-two degrees. Please fasten your seatbelts and secure all loose items in the cabin.”
Julian began gathering the papers, sliding them methodically back into the manila folder and tucking them into his duffel bag. He stood up, adjusted his dark shirt, and picked up the jacket he had discarded earlier during their confrontation. His movements were calm, deliberate, and practiced—the movements of a man who had spent years preparing for a single, definitive moment.
Victoria fastened her seatbelt with trembling hands, her eyes fixed on the window as the glittering coastline of Florida rose up to meet them. The sprawling estates, the private docks, and the glittering lights of the Atlantic seaboard rushed past in a blur of tropical twilight. For years, this coastline had represented the pinnacle of her success with Arthur—a gilded cage where she played the part of the devoted corporate wife. Now, it looked like a crime scene.
The Gulfstream touched down with a soft, practiced bump, the thrust reversers engaging with a deep, muffled roar that vibrated through the airframe. As the aircraft taxied toward a private hangar tucked away from the main terminal, Victoria saw the flashing red and blue lights of federal vehicles parked near the tarmac perimeter.
Julian stood near the cabin door as Captain Miller worked the pneumatic release valve. The heavy door swung outward, letting in a rush of warm, humid evening air scented with salt and hibiscus—a sharp contrast to the cold, sterile interior of the jet.
“Remember,” Julian said, pausing with his hand on the duffel strap as he looked back at her. “Arthur is going to try to play the victim. He’s going to tell you that I ruined everything. Don’t listen to him.”
May you like
Victoria stood up, smoothing the wrinkles of her cream blazer. The hesitation that had crippled her earlier was gone, replaced by a cold, hardened clarity. She reached into her black handbag, pulled out her sunglasses, and slipped them back on—not as a shield against Julian, but as armor against the man she was about to face.
“I’m done listening to Arthur Sterling,” she said, her voice steady and resolute.
