Chapter 297 Chapter 297

Chapter 297 Chapter 297
Chapter 297

The freezing air inside the private cargo aircraft hummed continuously as the heavy engines roared high above the Atlantic Ocean. Ethan stood near the back of the hold, leaning his back against a stack of wooden crates secured with thick yellow straps.

His right leg was wrapped tightly in thick bandages, sending sharp throbs of pain up to his hip every time the plane rattled through turbulence. He held onto the wooden cane Jean had carved for him, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had no phone, no extra clothes, and only a tiny handful of cash remaining from what Jean had forced into his hand back at the cabin.

Getting onto the plane had taken every bit of strength and luck he had left. When Henri’s cargo boat finally pulled into the quiet harbor in northern Spain, Henri had introduced him to a rough-looking flight crew operating an unregistered charter plane used for transporting commercial goods to North America.

Henri had handed over most of Jean’s savings to the pilot on Ethan’s behalf, convincing the man to let a wounded passenger ride quietly in the back behind the freight. Ethan had dragged his swollen leg up the metal loading ramp under the cover of night, hiding among the stacked boxes before the heavy bay doors sealed him in.

Standing alone in the dark cargo hold, surrounded by rows of sealed pallets, Ethan rested his head back against the cold aluminum wall. Exhaustion settled deep into his bones, but his mind refused to rest.

Everything he had gone through over the last few days in France kept running through his head. He thought about the sudden gunshots near the river, the burning pain when the bullet caught his thigh, and the sheer desperation of dragging himself through the muddy woods while Sam’s guards searched for him. He had almost died on foreign soil, survived only by the kindness of Jean and Colette, two total strangers who had treated his wounds and kept him alive.

His thoughts drifted back to Isabelle, and a sharp knot formed in his stomach. The pain of losing her twice sat deeply in his mind—first when she had vanished years ago under the guise of suicide, and then when Sam had snatched her away again. He remembered pushing her toward the wooden footbridge, telling her to run while he held off the guards. He had no way of checking on her now, no way to call her, and no way to know for sure if she had made it back safely. All he could do was hold onto the desperate hope that she had crossed that border, reached Agent Miller, and made it back to Monterey unharmed.

Then came the bitter memory of Sam Keystone’s betrayal. They had been brothers once, running around as toddlers after meeting through Sam’s late mother, Bianca. They had shared meals, grown up in the same circles, and spent years standing side by side. Yet the whole time, Sam had been quietly harboring pure venom toward him, plotting his ruin, bribing university officials, and framing him for terrible things. The betrayal stung worse than the physical bullet in his leg.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at the metal floor of the plane. He wasn't going back to California just to hide or clear his name softly. He was returning with a fierce, unwavering resolve. He was going to protect his mother from Richard’s greed, take back the company he had poured his life into building, and ensure Sam Keystone faced absolute ruin for what he had done to Isabelle.

Hours later, the loud hum of the plane's engines shifted pitch as the aircraft began its long descent. The cargo hold grew warmer as the plane cut down through the thick cloud layer, landing with a loud, jarring thud on a private, secluded runway just outside Monterey. The tires squeaked loudly against the asphalt before the plane slowed down and taxied toward a quiet, unlit hanger away from the main commercial terminals.

When the hydraulic ramp lowered with a loud hiss, the night air of California rushed into the bay. Ethan dragged himself toward the exit, using his wooden cane for balance as he stepped down onto the tarmac. The crew members didn't ask questions. They unloaded their boxes without paying him any mind, letting him limp away into the shadows of the airfield perimeter.

Ethan walked slowly along the edge of the access road, his leg stiff and aching terribly from hours of remaining in one position. He reached a small gas station near the highway, where an old public payphone sat mounted against the brick wall beside a outdoor vending machine. Ethan reached into his pocket, pulling out his very last few coins. He dropped the change into the slot and dialed the private home landline number he knew by heart—the direct line to his mother’s estate in Monterey.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered on the other end, sounding tired and anxious.
"Hello?" Maria's voice came through the receiver.
Ethan took a deep breath, resting his forehead against the cold metal casing of the payphone as relief washed over him. "Mom," Ethan said, his voice raspy and low. "It's me. I'm back in Monterey."