Chapter 13 - Into the Storm
The twin turbine engines of the corporate chopper screamed against the howling mountain winds. Julian sat in the co-pilot’s seat, his hands gripping his knees to keep them from trembling. Flying the aircraft was Captain Miller, Clara’s personal pilot who had arrived at the estate just as the feds secured the perimeter—one of the few men Evelyn had never managed to corrupt.
In the back, Lily was strapped securely into a passenger seat, wrapped in a dry fleece blanket with a pair of noise-canceling headphones over her ears, exhausted into a deep, dreamless sleep. Beside her sat Agent Vance and three heavily armed federal agents from the tactical response unit.
"We have zero visibility across the ridge, Julian!" Miller shouted over the roar of the rotors. "Wind shear is hitting forty knots! If I take us down through this fog, we’re coming in blind!"
"Follow the valley floor!" Julian yelled into his headset mic. "St. Jude sits on an isolated plateau right above the gorge! There’s an emergency landing pad behind the boiler house!"
Lightning flashed through the black clouds, illuminating the jagged pine trees of the Adirondack wilderness below. Julian looked down at Clara's silver recorder resting in his palm. Clara had risked everything to save him, to save Lily, to expose the rot consuming his family. He had spent years turning a blind eye to his mother's ruthless ambition, pretending that wealth excused brutality.
No more.
"Ten miles out," Vance called out from the cabin, checking the charging handle of his carbine. "We just intercepted a burst transmission from the facility. The staff at St. Jude got word of Evelyn’s arrest twenty minutes ago."
Julian’s throat constricted. "What was the message?"
"Two words," Vance replied coldly. "Clean house."
Julian clenched his fists so hard his nails drew fresh blood from his palms. "Faster, Miller. Push the turbines!"
The helicopter plunged through the thick bank of freezing fog, the altimeter spinning rapidly. Suddenly, the tree line vanished, replaced by the dark, looming silhouette of St. Jude Rest Home. It looked like a Victorian fortress, surrounded by razor-wire fencing and high stone walls, perched precariously on the lip of a sheer rocky gorge.
The facility was completely blacked out.
No security lights. No runway beacons. Only the faint, flickering red glow of an emergency incinerator chimney puffing greasy black smoke into the rain.
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"Landing gear down!" Miller yelled, bringing the chopper into a violent, sideways descent toward the rain-slicked concrete pad.
Before the skids even touched the ground, Julian threw the cabin door open, the freezing wind whipping his face, his eyes fixed on the iron doors of the asylum.
