The following morning at dawn, the skies over Manhattan were heavy with dark, slate-grey clouds rolling inland from the Atlantic Ocean. On the private helipad atop the East 34th Street Heliport, the twin turbine engines of Alexander Cross’s customized Sikorsky S-76 helicopter spun with a deep, muffled roar, slicing through the crisp morning mist. "Boardroom warfare requires absolute clarity of mind, Clara," Alexander had told her two hours earlier as…
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