Below, the upper districts came fully into view. Private towers. Ancestral estates. Heavily secured compounds. Floodlights swept across elevated roads and gated properties.
Then ahead—
The Torres Mendoza estate appeared. Massive against the darkness. Ancient. Its private landing strip burned beneath disciplined rows of white lights. Armed security already stood at the perimeter long before the helicopter began descending.
The capital house had been alerted hours ago.
The aircraft lowered through the night. Wind screamed harder against the body. Floodlights washed across the cabin windows in pale flashes.
Skids touched tarmac with a hard metallic scrape. Dust spiraled beneath the blades.
Before the rotors fully slowed, the side door opened. Cold capital air swept inside.
