"We're not landing at Geneva International," Elena shouted over the howling wind, leaning between the pilot seats with a pair of night-vision binoculars. "Look down at the lakefront! The Carter Chateau has a two-thousand-foot private grass landing strip running right along the water's edge!"
"Elena, that strip hasn't been used since the 1970s!" Marcus warned. "It's soaked in mud, surrounded by ancient oaks, and the visibility is less than a mile!"
"Can you land her, Marcus?" Elena looked him dead in the eye.
Marcus looked at the trembling instrument panel, then back at Elena. A fierce smile touched his lips. "Hold on to your teeth, boss."
He cut the throttles and dipped the nose into a steep, heart-stopping dive. The DC-3 screeched as it plummeted through the black storm clouds, emerging barely three hundred feet above the choppy, ink-black surface of Lake Geneva.
Ahead of them, illuminated by blazing floodlights and surrounded by lines of luxury limousines, sat the sprawling Carter Chateau. Inside the grand ballroom, the elite of European aviation, corrupt board members, and international journalists were gathered for the historic execution of Global Continental Airlines.
"Flaps forty! Gear down!" Marcus yelled.
The massive rubber tires locked into place with a mechanical thud. The plane skimmed across the surface of the lake, cleared the stone perimeter wall of the chateau by less than ten feet, and slammed into the soggy grass of the private runway with a tremendous splash of mud and water.
The radial engines roared in reverse pitch, tires tearing trenches through the lawn, bringing the massive warbird to a halt barely twenty yards from the glass doors of the chateau's grand pavilion.
The dozens of private security guards stationed around the lawn stood frozen, their mouths open in utter disbelief as the aluminum beast hissed and settled into the mud.
Elena kicked open the main passenger door, stepping out into the pouring rain. She wore a sharp, midnight-black power suit, her hair slicked back, her posture commanding and absolute. Behind her walked Marcus, holding the digital forensic equipment, and Sarah Jenkins, clutching the physical founding charters.
Security guards rushed forward, reaching for their holsters.
"Touch those weapons," Elena said, her voice cutting through the thunder like a whip, "and you will spend the rest of your lives in a federal penitentiary for high treason. I am Elena Carter. And this is my home."
The guards, recognizing the legitimate heir and shaken by the sheer ferocity of her entrance, lowered their hands and stepped back.
Elena kicked open the gilded double doors of the grand ballroom, stepping inside into the blinding glare of chandelier light and media flashbulbs.
Chapter 29
The sudden crash of the ballroom doors sent a shockwave through the assembled crowd. Hundreds of billionaires, aviation executives, and global media correspondents froze mid-sentence, champagne flutes dangling in their hands.
At the center of the elevated stage stood Evelyn Carter, radiating cold aristocratic elegance in an emerald gown, standing beside Lord Reginald Croft, who held the gavel of the tribunal.
Evelyn’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening in momentary shock as she saw Elena standing there—covered in rain, yet looking more regal, fierce, and indomitable than ever.
"Elena..." Evelyn recovered instantly, her voice projecting through the stage microphone with sickening maternal warmth. "My poor, troubled child. You shouldn't have broken police quarantine. Guards, please escort my daughter to a private room before she embarrasses herself further."
"Don't you dare speak to me, Evelyn," Elena's voice boomed across the cavernous ballroom without the need for a microphone. Every camera in the room spun instantly toward her, livestreaming to over fifty million viewers across the globe.
Lord Croft slammed his gavel down furiously. "Mrs. Carter! You are in violation of an official European Civil Aviation tribunal! You have been stripped of your voting rights and executive standing!"
"I haven't been stripped of anything, Croft," Elena said, marching down the center red carpet with deliberate, thundering strides. Sarah and Marcus followed closely behind. "Because this tribunal is a criminal conspiracy, presided over by a bought-and-paid-for bureaucrat!"
Murmurs of shock rippled through the audience.
"Outrageous!" Croft sputtered, his face turning an angry crimson. "Security, arrest them immediately!"
"Let her speak!" a prominent voice cried from the front row. It was the chief representative of the International Air Transport Association. "The world is watching, Lord Croft. Let the founder’s daughter present her defense!"
Elena stepped onto the elevated stage, confronting her mother face-to-face. Up close, Evelyn’s eyes were like chips of green ice.