Chapter 257
Chapter 257:
June let out a low, cold scoff. Alycia had just handed her the final nail for her own coffin.
Then she opened the second attachment and looked at the flight tracker. The black icon of Cole’s private jet cut through the red radar zones of the thunderstorm in a direct line toward Boston.
He was coming here. Like a deranged stalker.
June sat up slowly in bed. She felt no fear. What she felt was a deep, overwhelming disgust.
She set the phone on the mattress and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet settling on the cold floor.
If Cole Compton wanted to kick down her door tonight, she was going to let him. And then she was going to dismantle the last remaining shred of his pathetic ego with surgical precision.
Outside, the storm raged on. But the real hurricane was about to make landfall on the top floor of the hotel.
𝘘𝗎𝖺li𝘁𝗒 𝗍𝗋а𝘯s𝘭𝘢𝘁𝗶𝘰𝗇𝘀 𝘰𝗇
The glowing digital map on the wall-mounted flat screen cast pale light across the dark living room of the Presidential Suite.
It was exactly four in the morning.
The bitter, roasted scent of double espresso hung thick in the air, sharp and unyielding.
June stood before the screen, her dark eyes tracking the glowing red coordinates with surgical precision. The flight tracker showed Cole’s jet less than an hour from landing, but she forced the impending confrontation into a locked compartment of her mind. Before she could deal with the wreckage of her marriage, she had another war to win. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the black-market syndicate.
Crawford stood beside her, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the glass coffee table. He pointed a steady finger at a cluster of abandoned warehouses near the South Boston waterfront.
“This is the blind spot,” he said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “The city’s surveillance grid drops off completely here. It’s the perfect funnel for an underground drop p>
June gave a single sharp nod, her pulse steady and clinical. She reached over the back of the sofa, grabbed her dark trench coat, and slid her arms into the sleeves. “We need to move now. If we miss the delivery window, the trail goes cold for good p>
Crawford didn’t waste a breath on unnecessary words. He moved with practiced efficiency, handing her a set of encrypted car keys and a secondary burner phone. Their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. They operated like two gears in a perfectly calibrated machine — no words required.
June crossed to the suite’s heavy double doors and took a slow, deep breath. Her right hand wrapped around the cold brass handle, fingers tightening — just as a muffled commotion erupted from the hallway. A sharp curse. The thud of a body against a wall. A hotel security guard’s panicked voice: “Sir, you cannot go in there p>
She pressed the handle down and pulled the door open.
The warm air of the suite collided instantly with the freezing draft of the corridor.
June stopped dead.