The wet ground blurred, and then, with a gentle lift, the plane rose into the night sky.

The city fell away beneath us, its grid of streets shrinking into a pattern of tiny, glowing circuits.

I watched the Costello estate slide past far below, a small speck of red and blue lights surrounded by darkness.

Arthur would spend the rest of his life in a concrete cell, stripped of his suits, his cars, and his prestige.

He would have nothing but time to think about the assistant he had discarded.

He would think about the phone calls he could not make, the money he could not touch, and the empire he could not save.

And he would know, with absolute certainty, that I was the one who had taken it all.

The plane climbed through the heavy cloud layer, breaking out into the calm, moonlit space above the storm.

The turbulence subsided, leaving only the steady, rhythmic hum of the engines.

The flight attendant offered me a glass of water, which I accepted with a nod.

I took a sip, the cool liquid clearing the dry taste of adrenaline from my mouth.