Chapter 18 - The Phantom Passenger
I couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet.
The world around me seemed to warp, spinning into a cold, terrifying vortex.
"Julian?" Marcus’s voice sounded muffled, like he was shouting underwater. "Julian, look at me. What is that?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn't speak.
For two years, the guilt had eaten away at my soul like battery acid.
Every night I spent in that wheelchair, unable to move my legs, I had relived the sound of metal tearing against rock.
I had relived the sight of the shattered passenger door hanging open over the dark abyss.
I had blamed myself for driving that night.
I had blamed myself for surviving while the woman I loved was swallowed by the black water.
And now, her file lay open in my hands.
"She didn't die," I whispered, the words scraping against my raw throat.
Marcus leaned over, his eyes scanning the wire transfer receipts.
"Payments to a private psychiatric clinic in Zurich," Marcus murmured, his brow furrowing deeply. "Two hundred thousand dollars every month."
"Alistair didn't pay for her funeral," I said, my voice rising with sudden fury. "He paid for her silence."
"Or her captivity," Clara added softly, stepping into the vault.
She looked at the documents, her eyes filling with profound sorrow.
"Julian, if Elena survived that fall, why didn't she contact anyone? Why didn't she come back to you?"
"Because whoever controlled Alistair wanted her hidden," I said, my mind racing through every detail of that fateful night.
I remembered Elena turning to me right before the headlights blinded us on the mountain turn.
She hadn't screamed in panic.
She had looked at her phone, and she had unbuckled her seatbelt.
A terrible, suffocating suspicion bloomed inside my chest.
Was she a victim?
Or was she the trigger?
"Marcus, fuel the company jet," I ordered, slamming the binder shut.
"Where are we going?" Marcus asked, his jaw set.
May you like
"Switzerland," I answered. "I'm going to look into the eyes of the woman I mourned for two years."
***
