Elissa had been clutching a lifeless Locke in her arms, weeping.
At this moment, Ernest slowly lowered his outstretched arm and steadied his breath. “Any news?”
Quentin nodded. “Yes. We’ve contacted the airport. So far, Miss Holland and Locke’s names aren’t on the list of victims.” Ernest said nothing. That didn’t mean they were safe.
“Mr. Flynn,” Quentin added carefully, “at least for now, no news is good news.”
Ernest remained silent, then asked, “Is everything arranged?”
He was referring to the private jet, ready to fly straight to the crash site. But a private jet couldn’t just take off on a whim. It needed clearance from the local aviation authority. Last night, Ernest had ordered Quentin to make the arrangements without delay.
“Yes,” Quentin confirmed with a nod. “We’ve secured the slot. Departure is set for three this afternoon.”
That was the earliest time available.
“Alright.” Ernest stood, his expression composed. “I’ll go alone this time. You stay here and manage the company.”
He paused and then added, “If you can’t reach me, or if anything comes up that you can’t handle, call Eric.”
“Understood,” Quentin replied affirmatively.
Ernest stepped into the bathroom and took a long shower. When he came out, his hair was still damp, and his phone was buzzing on the table. Linda’s name flashed on the screen.
He paused for a moment, then picked it up and answered.
“Ernest!” Linda greeted him cheerfully. “Just calling to let you know the dress has been delivered. Our wedding is in two days… Isn’t that amazing? Have you been busy? You got home late last night and left so early this morning.”
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She sighed and spoke with concern. “Take care of yourself, okay? Work can wait a day or two. The wedding’s almost here…”
Ernest held the phone to his ear, hearing her voice but not really absorbing the words. She said it again. Their wedding.
“Linda,” he cut in quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m?!” Linda’s tone shifted, confused. “Why are you apologizing again?”
“I’m sorry,” Ernest repeated, his voice heavier this time. “We need to postpone the wedding.”
On the other end of the line, Linda fell silent. Then she asked, “Postpone the wedding? Why?”
Ernest’s gaze darkened. “Something urgent came up. I need to leave Srixby for a few days—maybe longer.”
“What kind of thing?” Linda’s voice tightened. “What could possibly matter more than our wedding?”
Ernest paused. He didn’t offer an explanation. “You don’t need to know. Just wait. We’ll get married when I return.” Then he ended the call.
“Ernest!” Linda stared at her screen, stunned.
Her grip on the phone tightened as anger surged through her. He actually hung up on her.
.
.
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