The Comatose Wife's Billionaire Family Comeback

The Gulfstream G650's tires hit the tarmac of JFK International Airport with a smooth screech. The jet engines whined as they powered down.

Three black Rolls-Royce Phantoms idled near the runway.

The family transferred into the cars. The convoy drove out of the airport, merging onto the highway. They drove straight into the heart of Manhattan.

The cars pulled up to the curb of a towering glass skyscraper.

They entered a private elevator. The doors closed. The elevator shot up to the top floor.

The metal doors slid open, revealing a two-thousand-square-foot penthouse.

Aunt Constance stood in the foyer. She wore an immaculate Chanel suit. Her hands were clasped tightly together.

As Evalyn's wheelchair rolled out, Constance rushed forward. Tears spilled over her eyelashes. She wrapped her arms around Evalyn's neck, burying her face in Evalyn's shoulder.

Constance pulled back. She wiped her eyes. She walked over to the hospital bed. She looked down at Amari.

Constance smiled softly. She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, glittering diamond hair clip. She gently pinned back a loose strand of Amari's hair. "Welcome home, little one."

Amari hugged Ghost tighter against her chest. She looked up at Evalyn, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

Evalyn nodded slowly. She gave Amari a reassuring smile.

Constance gestured to the medics. They pushed the bed through the massive living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering skyline of New York City.

They stopped at the end of a long hallway in front of double doors painted soft pink.

Constance pushed the doors open.

The room was massive. A canopy bed shaped like a carriage sat in the center. Racks of custom-made dresses lined the walls. Plush, thick rugs covered the floor.

Amari's jaw dropped. She stopped breathing. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

Ghost jumped off the bed. He landed on the Persian rug. He kneaded the expensive fabric with his claws, circled twice, and lay down.

Downstairs in the living room, Barron stood in front of an eighty-inch television screen.

The financial news network was broadcasting live. The ticker at the bottom read: ADKINS ENTERPRISES FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY UNDER THE BANKRUPTCY CODE.

The screen showed footage of Jazmyne. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Two federal agents shoved her into the back of an unmarked car.

Barron's face showed zero emotion. He picked up the remote, turned off the TV, and took a slow sip of amber whiskey.

Upstairs, Amari lay in the softest bed she had ever felt. Her eyes were heavy. She drifted to sleep.

Moonlight spilled through the window. It cast a bright beam across the floor, illuminating Ghost.

Ghost lifted his head. His mismatched eyes stared into the empty air. A deeply human expression of longing and recognition flashed in his pupils.

He felt a pull. An invisible tether vibrating across thousands of miles.

At that exact second, deep in the snow-covered Alps of Europe, a massive stone castle stood in silence.

Inside a dark, cavernous room, a tall man stood in front of a wall of glowing monitors. A massive red alert flashed across the center display. It was the exact encrypted military frequency Evalyn had triggered at the hospital-a tripwire he had embedded in global surveillance networks five years ago, waiting for her ghost to finally make a sound.

The system had traced the origin and immediately locked onto the resulting extraction. The main screen was paused on a blurry satellite image. It showed the Dale family convoy pulling into the Manhattan skyscraper.

Demian Mullen raised his hand. His long, calloused fingers traced the blurry outline of the little girl on the glass screen.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

He turned his head toward the shadows of the room. His voice was deep, raspy, and filled with absolute authority.

"Prep the jet. We are going to New York."