Chapter 2 - The First Class Interception
Flight 844 to Zurich was scheduled to push back from Gate 42 at 4:15 PM.
By 3:45 PM, Daniel and his traveling circus had comfortably settled into their plush seats in First Class. Through the automated seat-selection app I had secretly kept linked to our shared airline profile—a habit born of years of tracking his flight schedules for surprise airport pickups—I watched their digital boarding status update to SEATED.
I sat in the back of a black town car idling outside the terminal, my laptop glowing softly on my lap.
My phone buzzed. It was an encrypted text from Marcus:
INJUNCTIONS FILED. ALL JOINT ACCOUNTS, BUSINESS ACCOUNTS, AND THE ST. JUDE MEDICAL FOUNDATION ENDOWMENT ACCOUNTS LINKED TO DANIEL’S PRACTICE HAVE BEEN FROZEN PENDING FRAUD INVESTIGATION. TSA HAS ALSO BEEN NOTIFIED OF AN UNREPORTED ASSET EXPORT FLAG ON DEPARTING FLIGHT 844.
I stared at the screen, a thin, humourless smile touching the corners of my lips. Daniel thought he was escaping to Switzerland for a two-week romantic getaway with his mistress—whose name I had now identified from the airline manifest as Chloe Vance, a pharmaceutical sales representative who had recently secured exclusive supply contracts with Daniel's hospital department.
A pharmaceutical rep. Kickbacks, drug trials, and illicit funds funneled through dummy corporations. The affair wasn't just romantic; it was a federal compliance violation waiting to implode.
Suddenly, my phone rang.
It wasn't Marcus. It was Daniel’s private cell.
I let it ring three times before swiping to answer, keeping my voice completely neutral.
"Rachel?" Daniel’s voice didn't sound tired anymore; it sounded shrill, laced with sudden, jagged panic. "Rachel, where are you?"
"I'm at home, Daniel," I said smoothly, listening to the muffled background noise of the airplane cabin through the receiver. "Waiting for you to finish your emergency procedure. How's the patient holding up?"
"Don't play games with me," he hissed, whispering furiously so the passengers around him wouldn't hear. "The credit card—I tried to buy lounge passes at the gate, and my Amex was declined. Then my corporate debit was flagged. And the concierge just told me my ticket has been flagged by federal transport security for asset verification!"
"Oh, dear," I murmured, feigning polite concern. "That sounds terrible. Have you tried calling your father? I'm sure Richard can buy your coffee with his retirement fund."
"Rachel, what did you do?" Panic was overriding his carefully rehearsed bedside manner now. His voice cracked. "Did you—were you at the airport? Did someone see us?"
"See who, Daniel?" I asked innocently. "You're at the hospital. Saving lives. Remember?"
A heavy, breathless silence hung on the line. Then, in the background, I heard his sister Lauren's voice screeching: "What do you mean we can't board? Our seats have been revoked for asset audit?!"
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"You bitch," Daniel whispered, the mask completely shattering. "You ruined everything. We had a life—"
"You had a script, Daniel," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a tone cold enough to frost glass. "And performance review time is over. Look out the window of your first-class cabin, darling. Tell me what you see."
