The intelligence from Zurich painted a grim picture.
Eleanor hadn't just survived her supposed fall in the Swiss Alps—she'd planned it. Faked her death with the kind of meticulous precision that made Alexander realize he'd underestimated his mother even after decades of knowing her capacity for manipulation.
Now she was entrenched on Isla Sombra, a privately owned island twelve miles off the coast of Panama. Former cartel stronghold, purchased through shell corporations so complex it had taken Uncle Li's best forensic accountants three days to trace the ownership back to Eleanor. The island was a fortress: armed guards, surface-to-air missiles, radar systems that could detect approaching aircraft or vessels from twenty miles out.
