129. The Trap

Henry stood there, the hum of the engines a constant reminder that they were airborne, untethered from the world below. The gold bar caught his gaze again, its shine unrelenting under the dim lights. It wasn’t just wealth sitting there—it was a problem, one that carried the weight of Léa’s warning.

He poured another drink, the clink of ice breaking the stillness. The whiskey swirled, amber and hypnotic, before he downed it in one gulp. The burn seared his throat, but it was a welcome distraction.

The door opened again. This time, Simon’s frame filled the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room with precision.

“Trouble?” Simon asked, his voice low, measured.

Henry didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned the glass in his hand, the grooves pressing into his palm. Finally, he spoke.

“Just questions without answers.”

Simon stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Questions, or regrets?”

Henry’s jaw tightened. “What do you know about regrets?”

Simon smirked, leaning against the wal
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