Hank had never feared death before. He believed that as long as he had lived a full and satisfying life, he could face death with peace of mind when the time came.
Of course, according to his own expectations, with his wealth and meticulous attention to his health—addressing any issues with immediate intervention and treatment—living past 80 shouldn’t have been a problem. As long as he reached 80, he would have been content.
But he never imagined that, despite all his precautions, he would be struck by pancreatic cancer, a true killer.
Now, all he wanted was to see Charlie wade as soon as possible and, no matter what, beg him to cure him.
So, he immediately contacted his flight crew, instructing them to refuel his private jet and expedite the pre-flight checks.
He also left the hospital right away, heading to the airport by car.
Hank had never been so rushed in his life. Just a couple of days ago, he had flown to China, then flown back overnight yesterday. After landing, he underwent several hours of tests, only to now have to rush back again.
He calculated the timing: it was early morning in China, and by the time he landed, it would be evening there—perfect for arranging another dinner with Charlie wade. Naturally, the dinner would have to be at Tianxiang Mansion.
On the way to the airport, he couldn’t resist the urge to call Matt Finkelstein, hoping he could help connect him with Steve and put in a good word for him.
But then he remembered that it was still early morning in China. While calling Matt Finkelstein wouldn’t be an issue, Steve would definitely still be asleep. Disturbing him now would likely earn him a scolding.
So, he decided to wait until he was on the plane. After three or four hours, when it would be late morning in Aurous Hill, he could use the satellite phone on the plane to call Matt Finkelstein.
A little over an hour later, his private jet took off from New York’s JFK Airport, soaring into the morning light.
Fortunately, he was wealthy enough to own a private jet capable of flying directly to Aurous Hill without refueling stops. Otherwise, with a layover for refueling, the journey would have taken over 16 hours.
Hank hadn’t slept all night, and even though it was now morning, he still felt no drowsiness.
In such a situation, anyone would struggle to sleep. Though he couldn’t sleep, his body was utterly exhausted, his eyelids heavy and constantly drooping.
He tried closing his eyes to rest for a bit, but as soon as he did, he felt as though the cancer cells inside him were running rampant, spreading uncontrollably. The sensation filled him with despair and helplessness.
Once the plane began cruising over the ocean, Hank couldn’t resist picking up the phone and calling Matt Finkelstein.
At that moment, Matt Finkelstein was enjoying breakfast in his hotel room. He had now settled into a state of calm, feeling an unprecedented sense of security living in China.
During the peak of the media backlash a while ago, he couldn’t sleep well, constantly fearing assassination.
Later, it got to the point where even when he was on his private jet, flying high in the sky, he didn’t dare to sleep.
Recently, there had been a series of incidents involving private jets in the U.S.—collisions and accidents here and there. He was terrified that his plane might crash into something mid-flight, and he’d be done for.
If that happened, it would truly align with an old Chinese saying: he’d die without a proper burial.
However, ever since coming to China with Steve, he had been sleeping like a baby. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he’d fall asleep and stay asleep until morning.
His sleep quality couldn’t have been better.
