The plane touched down in Montclair just after nine in the morning, and Gilbert turned on his phone to a flood of messages that made his blood run cold.
He read them in the car, Audrey's hand on his knee, her expression shifting from post-vacation calm to quiet concern as she watched his face change. Arianne collapsed. Noah left set. Rochefort Group in flux. The details were fragmented and contradictory—some sources said she was hospitalized, others said she was already home, none of them could agree on what had caused it. He tried calling Franz. No answer. He tried Arianne. No answer. He tried Gio, who picked up just long enough to say "She's stable, she's at the estate, I can't talk right now" before hanging up.
"Gilbert." Audrey's voice was gentle but firm. "Tell me what you need."
"I need to go to see Arianne or Franz." He was already giving the driver a word. "I'm sorry—I know we were supposed to—"
