Chapter 19 - The Alpine Sanctuary
The Swiss clinic was perched high in the snow-draped peaks above Lake Geneva.
Surrounded by towering pines and heavy wrought-iron security walls, Clinic St. Moritz resembled a luxury resort rather than a hospital.
The winter air was thin and freezing, biting into my face as our armored Mercedes climbed the winding private driveway.
Federal warrants issued in New York had already paved our way through Swiss international authorities.
The clinic’s chief administrator, Dr. Laurent, greeted us in the grand foyer, wringing his hands nervously.
"Mr. Sterling, we had no idea about the criminal charges against Mr. Thorne," Laurent insisted, his French accent thick with fear. "He was listed as the patient's legal guardian."
"Take me to her," I said, cutting him off with cold authority.
"She is in the south solarium," Laurent said quickly. "Please... be gentle. Her condition is delicate."
Marcus and Clara remained at the entrance of the glass-walled corridor.
I walked forward alone, each step heavy against the polished slate floors.
The solarium was flooded with brilliant, cold alpine sunlight.
Sitting in a wicker chair by the massive glass windows, wrapped in a cream cashmere sweater, was Elena.
Her auburn hair was longer than I remembered, falling over her shoulders like silk.
She was painting a canvas of the snowy peaks, her brush moving with delicate, graceful strokes.
She looked radiant.
Healthy.
Completely unharmed.
I stood in the doorway for a long moment, my hands trembling inside my coat pockets.
"Elena," I called out softly.
The brush froze against the canvas.
Slowly, she turned around.
When her green eyes met mine, there was no shock.
There were no tears of joy, no gasps of disbelief, and no overwhelming rush of emotion.
She simply set her brush down on the easel, picked up a linen cloth, and wiped her fingers.
May you like
"Hello, Julian," she said, her voice smooth and devoid of warmth. "I wondered how long it would take you to find this place."
***
