How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 472

Getting in hadn’t been easy—they’d all gone through rigorous security checks and confidential screenings before finally being allowed into the restricted zone.

From a distance, Elodie spotted Klein Whitaker had already arrived.

The moment Klein saw Elodie, the stern lines of his usually stoic face melted into a broad smile. “Elodie, you’re here. I happened to have some business today, thought I’d stop by and see you.”

Truth be told, he still held out a bit of hope—maybe if they kept crossing paths, Elodie might warm up to his son, Naylor Whitaker, one day.

Sylvie entered just in time to catch Klein’s greeting. She frowned, shooting Klein a puzzled look.

Why was someone like Klein being so… gracious to Elodie? It was borderline enthusiastic, as if he’d just bumped into a VIP.

A twinge of suspicion—and something like annoyance—crept up in Sylvie. She figured it must be because Elodie had recently acquired the Silverstein name; people had started treating her with more respect. But Klein? Of all people? That didn’t make sense.

She just couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“Mr. Whitaker.” Sylvie stepped forward, offering a polite greeting.

Klein glanced at her, well aware of the recent controversy at TerraCore Technologies with the Neural Intelligence leaks. The situation was complicated, and he didn’t want to get involved. He simply nodded. “Well, since everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Elodie walked with Galen, quietly discussing the next steps and some details of the schedule.

They needed to coordinate on some technical matters.

Only a small section of the base was open to them; the rest was strictly off-limits. Even in this designated area, everything was tightly monitored.

Still, Elodie reminded everyone to be thorough and pay attention to every detail.

For the technical briefing, some testing was required. Elodie caught sight of a few planes parked inside the hangar.

She recognized the models immediately.

They were from three years ago—practically ancient by industry standards now—so this was a rare chance to inspect them up close.

“Mr. Whitaker.” A voice called from the entrance.