The Bombardier Global 7500 carved a silent, silver path through the stratosphere, chasing the sun westward across the Atlantic.
Inside the pressurized, ultra-luxury cabin, the silence was absolute. The soft, ambient hum of the Rolls-Royce engines was a white-noise blanket, insulating the space from the violent, structural collapse Ryan had just triggered in Geneva.
He sat alone in the sprawling, wood-paneled rear compartment.
The heavy, bespoke overcoat was discarded on a nearby leather sofa. He had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar, the sharp, immaculate armor of the CEO finally fracturing under the sheer, accumulated weight of the past seventy-two hours.
He didn't open his laptop. He didn't review the liquidation reports flooding in from Diana's legal team or the integration metrics Iralis was pushing to the secure servers.
