The driver didn't swerve or perform any reckless maneuvers. Instead, he accelerated with terrifying smoothness, overtaking the lead vehicle before precisely and decisively angling the massive Phantom across both lanes. He brought the vehicle to an imposing, regal halt. It wasn't a stunt; it was a statement of absolute dominance. It completely blocked the path of the approaching convoy: three armored black Range Rovers and a heavy-duty mobile ICU truck.

The lead Range Rover slammed on its brakes, stopping less than two feet from the Phantom's doors.

Instantly, the convoy erupted into a synchronized defensive formation. The doors of the Range Rovers flew open simultaneously.

Eight Private Military Contractors, wearing heavy Kevlar vests and holding short-barreled automatic rifles, poured out into the rain.

They fanned out in a flawless tactical wedge, raising their weapons. Eight black muzzles aimed directly at the Rolls-Royce.

Christopher's face hardened. He recognized the insignia on their tactical gear. "Miss Palmer, stay inside. That is the Montoya family's private army. They control Wall Street. They will shoot first."

Eloise ignored him. She pushed open the heavy door of the Phantom and stepped out into the storm.

The freezing rain instantly soaked her trench coat, but her posture remained perfectly straight. She walked directly toward the barrels of the rifles.

"Hands on your head! Get on your knees! Now!" the lead PMC captain roared over the sound of the rain, his finger resting heavily on the trigger.

Eloise didn't even look at him. Her eyes were locked on the back of the mobile ICU truck. She could see the thick, black miasma of death swirling around the reinforced steel doors.

Two massive guards broke formation. They charged at her, raising the heavy stocks of their rifles to smash her knees and force her down.

Eloise didn't stop walking. As the first guard swung his weapon, she sidestepped by a fraction of an inch. She reached out, her fingers locking onto the pressure points of his wrist joint.

With a sharp twist and a shift of her body weight, she used his own momentum against him. The two-hundred-pound mercenary flipped over her hip and crashed violently into the flooded asphalt.

The second guard froze in shock. In that split second, Eloise slipped past him and reached the side of the mobile ICU.

She raised her hand and knocked her knuckles against the bulletproof glass. Three sharp, heavy strikes.

The sound cut through the storm, echoing loudly inside the armored cabin.

The PMC captain racked the bolt of his rifle. The metallic clack was deafening. "Last warning! I will blow your head off!"

Slowly, the black tinted window of the ICU truck rolled down just a few inches. The faint, blue glow of medical monitors spilled out into the dark rain.

Eloise leaned toward the gap. "The man inside isn't dead yet," she said, her voice cutting through the noise of the storm. "I can save him."

"Are you insane?" a shrill, arrogant woman's voice snapped from inside the cabin. "Shoot this psychotic scammer right now!"

Eloise ignored the insult. She raised her hand, holding up three fingers.

She looked through the crack in the glass, her expression entirely bored. "Consultation and intervention fee. Nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Cash or wire transfer."

The highway fell dead silent. The only sound was the heavy rain hitting the asphalt and the heavy breathing of the mercenaries.

The bulletproof window lowered another two inches. Eleanor Montoya's face appeared in the gap. Her skin was perfectly lifted and tightened by expensive surgeons, but right now, it was twisted into an ugly snarl.

"Did you not hear me?" Eleanor screamed at the guards outside. "Shoot her! She's a deranged beggar trying to extort us!"

Beside Eleanor, a younger woman draped in a Chanel shawl leaned over. Tess Logan covered her nose in disgust. "Nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars? That wouldn't even cover my weekly manicure. These street rats are getting desperate."

The PMC captain adjusted his grip on his rifle. He received the direct order from the family matriarch. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Before he could apply the final pound of pressure, a sound came from the deep shadows at the back of the cabin.

It was a cough.

It was incredibly weak, barely more than a ragged exhalation of air, but the moment it echoed through the truck, every single mercenary outside froze. The captain immediately pulled his finger off the trigger and lowered the barrel of his gun.

The interior motion-sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the back of the cabin.

A young man sat in a high-tech, motorized wheelchair. Camden Montoya's skin was the color of old parchment. A thick, gray cashmere blanket was draped over his lap, making him look frail enough to be shattered by a strong gust of wind.

His eyes were a striking, deep gray-blue. They held a terrifying emptiness, a profound exhaustion that looked right through the physical world.

Camden raised a pristine white handkerchief to his mouth. He coughed twice more. When he pulled the cloth away, a faint web of red blood stained the white cotton.

Eleanor's face instantly shifted from rage to cloying sweetness. "Camden, darling, please don't strain yourself. The cold air will worsen your condition."

Camden didn't look at his stepmother. He slowly turned his head, locking his gray-blue eyes onto Eloise standing in the rain.

Their gazes collided through the open window. For a fraction of a second, Camden felt a strange, violent stutter in his chest. His heart missed a beat.

"On what basis," Camden asked, his voice raspy but dripping with the heavy, crushing authority of an apex predator, "do you claim he is alive?"

Eloise stared right back at him. "The man in the pod, Barton Montoya, has a flat brainwave. But his heart meridian still holds a sliver of life force."

She leaned an inch closer to the glass. "He suffered a cerebral hemorrhage three days ago at exactly 3:00 AM. It was accompanied by a massive, retrograde blood flow-a total reversal of circulation."

Eleanor's face drained of all color. The blood reversal was a level-one classified Montoya family secret. Not even the hospital staff knew the full truth.

Tess panicked, grabbing Eleanor's arm. "She... she must have bribed the nurses! She's a corporate spy!"

Camden's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He studied Eloise's posture, the way she stood perfectly still in the freezing rain, completely unfazed by the guns or the money.

Eloise glanced at her bare wrist as if checking a watch. "You have three minutes," she said coldly. "Once the reaper crosses the threshold, not even an archangel can drag your grandfather back."

Camden's index finger tapped once against the leather armrest of his wheelchair. It was a subtle, rhythmic tap.

He slowly turned his head toward his personal assistant standing by the door.

"Cole," Camden ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Open the intensive care pod. Let her try."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Eleanor shrieked, jumping up from her leather seat. She pointed a trembling finger at Camden. "You want to kill him faster? That is an FDA-approved Level-4 sterile pod! If you break the seal, the infection risk is one hundred percent! I will hold you legally responsible!"

Tess nodded frantically, her Chanel shawl slipping off her shoulders. "Camden, please! You're grieving! You can't let some voodoo street rat experiment on your grandfather!"

Cole, Camden's personal assistant, stood by the pod. His hand rested casually on the grip of his holstered pistol. He didn't look at the women; he only watched Camden, waiting for the final nod.

Camden ignored the screaming women. He kept his gray-blue eyes locked on Eloise.

Eloise sighed. The rain dripped from her eyelashes. She looked directly at Eleanor through the window.

"You don't care about a sterile environment," Eloise said, her voice projecting clearly over the storm. "You care about the Cayman Islands offshore account you opened last week."

Eleanor froze. Her mouth hung open.

"Two hours ago," Eloise continued, her tone surgical and precise, "you transferred twenty million dollars into a short-selling fund. You are betting that Barton Montoya dies in transit tonight. When the market opens tomorrow and Montoya Group stock plummets, you cash out."

Eleanor's face turned the color of ash. Her knees gave out, and she slumped back into her seat, her whole body shaking violently.

The air inside the cabin turned to ice. Outside, the mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances.

Tess clamped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. She had just heard a corporate secret that could get people buried in concrete.

A terrifying, suffocating killing intent flooded Camden's eyes. He slowly turned his head toward his stepmother.

"It's... it's slander!" Eleanor stammered, her voice cracking. "She's a witch! She's trying to divide our family!"

Camden raised one pale, thin hand. The gesture was slight, but it instantly silenced the cabin.

"Cole," Camden said softly. His voice was gentle, but it carried the lethal hiss of a viper. "Escort Eleanor and Tess to the rear vehicle. If they attempt to step out of that car, break their legs."

"Yes, sir," Cole replied. He stepped forward, grabbed both women by the arms with brutal efficiency, and dragged them out of the ICU truck into the rain.

The heavy doors slammed shut. The cabin was now empty, save for the comatose Barton, Camden in his wheelchair, and Eloise standing at the threshold.

Camden pressed the joystick on his wheelchair, backing up half a meter to clear the path to the medical pod.

He looked at Eloise. "If my grandfather dies," Camden whispered, "I will chain you to that offshore account and sink you both into the Mariana Trench."

Eloise shook the water from her coat and stepped up into the cabin.

She looked down at him, her face completely blank. "Have your nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars ready. I don't take checks."

She walked past him, stopping in front of the massive, transparent intensive care pod. She placed both hands on the heavy metal latches.

Eloise took a deep breath. The dark purple light in her irises flared brilliantly.

She yanked the latches down. A loud hiss of depressurization screamed through the cabin as she ripped the sterile door wide open.