Chapter 5 - DESCENDING THROUGH ICE
The aircraft shook violently as we plunged through the thick cloud deck hanging over the Front Range. Ice rattled against the small oval windows like handfuls of buckshot. Maya woke with a start, letting out a sharp, frightened cry, her tiny fingers digging into Jessi’s sweater.
"Shh, baby girl, it's okay," Jessi whispered, swaying gently in her seat despite the turbulence. She reached into her diaper bag, pulling out a small portable nebulizer, but her hands were shaking so hard she dropped the plastic mouthpiece onto the carpeted floor.
"Let me," I said immediately.
I reached down, scooped up the plastic piece, and pulled a sterile alcohol wipe from my pocket—a habit drummed into me from years of visiting sterile manufacturing facilities. I cleaned the plastic thoroughly, checked the seal, and handed it back to her.
"How does it work?" I asked.
Jessi looked at me, surprised, before clicking the small vial of saline into the chamber. "You hold the mask over her nose and mouth. Press the blue button. She hates it. She thinks it's a monster."
"Maya," I said softly, leaning closer.
The little girl turned her tear-streaked face toward me. Her green eyes were wide with terror, her tiny chest heaving with shallow, raspy breaths.
"Look here," I said, pulling my heavy gold pocket watch from my vest—the one my father had given me when I graduated from MIT, engraved with Chloe's initials. I popped open the case, revealing the intricate, ticking gears beneath the sapphire crystal. "Look at the little wheels turning. You see that?"
Maya’s crying hitched. She sniffled, her eyes locking onto the spinning brass balance wheel.
"Can you hold this watch for me while your mom gives you the magic air?" I asked, placing the cool gold metal gently into her small palm. "Keep it safe. It’s very important. Just like you."
Maya gripped the watch against her chest with both hands. Jessi slipped the small mask over her nose and mouth and pressed the switch. A fine white mist filled the cup. Maya took a breath, then another, her eyes never leaving mine.
Jessi looked at me over the top of the nebulizer, and for the first time in three long, brutal years, the ice in her gaze thawed into something resembling the girl I had fallen in love with in that small coffee shop in Spokane.
"You would have been good with them, Luca," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the mist machine. "You would have been so good."
"I am going to be good with them, Jessi," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "Starting tonight. We are not losing this. We are not losing them."
The landing gear dropped with a heavy, mechanical thud that reverberated through the cabin. Outside the window, the world was a swirling vortex of white snow and flashing amber runway lights. The plane touched down hard, tires skidding momentarily on the slush before the reverse thrusters roared to life, spraying walls of grey slush across the fuselage.
9:28 P.M.
The minutes were evaporating like steam.
As soon as the seatbelt sign chimed, I stood up, reached into the overhead bin, and grabbed Jessi’s worn coat and the kids' heavy winter jackets.
"Claire!" I called out to the flight attendant who was standing near the forward bulkhead.
"Yes, Mr. Vance?"
"Open the forward service door as soon as the bridge connects. I have an emergency medical transport waiting at the gate."
"Understood, sir."
I turned to Jessi. "Pick up Maya. I've got Leo and the bags."
I scooped Leo up into my left arm. He felt impossibly light, his small arms wrapping instinctively around my neck, his cold cheek pressing against my collar. A strange, fierce instinct roared to life inside my chest—an instinct that had nothing to do with contracts, stock prices, or legacy. It was primal. Protective. Absolute.
"Hold on tight, buddy," I whispered into his hair.
"Are we taking a fire truck?" he asked, his voice muffled against my lapel.
"Something like that," I said.
We moved past the passengers in first class, down the jet bridge, and into the terminal concourse. The Denver airport was packed with stranded holiday travelers sleeping on benches and clutching cancelled boarding passes.
Waiting at the end of the bridge was Marcus Thorne, dressed in a long black overcoat, holding an umbrella and a heavy leather portfolio. Beside him stood two burly men in tactical winter gear.
"Luca," Marcus said, his eyes darting to Leo in my arms, then to Jessi and Maya. A look of profound sorrow and determination crossed the old man's face. "Jessi. My God. I am so sorry. If I had known—"
"Save it for the car, Marcus," I interrupted sharply. "What's the status at the Brown Palace?"
"Bad," Marcus said, falling into step beside us as we moved swiftly toward the private service elevator that bypassed the main terminal. "Flynn moved the vote forward. The Sterling board has already convened on the third floor in the Onyx Room. Arden Care's legal team is there with cashier's checks totaling forty million dollars in upfront liquidity to sway the minority shareholders. Flynn has convinced them that Thomas's estate is insolvent and that you personally backed out of the acquisition."
"What time does the formal vote take place?"
"Ten-forty-five," Marcus said, glancing at his watch. "Fifty-five minutes from now."
"And the roads?"
"I-70 is crawling. There's a multi-car pileup near Central Park Boulevard. Normal transit time is forty-five minutes. In this blizzard, it's going to take at least an hour and a half."
I stopped right in the middle of the private corridor, Leo still clinging to my neck.
"An hour and a half means we arrive at eleven o'clock," I said. "The deal will already be signed."
"Then we have to find another way," Jessi said, her voice tight with panic. "Luca, if they sign that document, the transfer of patent ownership is legally binding the second Arden countersigns. My father's life's work... it's gone."
I looked at Marcus. "Where is the Vance Global corporate chopper?"
"Grounded at Centennial Airport," Marcus replied grimly. "FAA issued a zero-visibility freeze warning for civilian rotorcraft twenty minutes ago."
"Then who has clearance to move on the ground without traffic interference?"
Marcus paused, a slow, dangerous grin creeping onto his weathered face. "The Denver Police Department. Or an emergency medical transport."
May you like
I looked down at Maya, who was breathing easier now, still clutching my gold pocket watch.
"Marcus," I said, "call the Chief of Denver Emergency Services. Tell him the CEO of Vance Global is donating five million dollars to the pediatric trauma unit tonight on one condition: I need a heavy-duty all-wheel-drive emergency response convoy to clear every intersection between here and downtown Denver right now."
