Chapter 3 - Grounded
Daniel didn't answer immediately. I heard the frantic rustling of clothing, the frantic shuffling of feet in the narrow aisle of the Boeing 777, and then a sharp intake of breath.
I pictured him scrambling out of his plush leather seat, squeezing past his mistress Chloe—who was probably staring in horror at her own frozen boarding pass—and pressing his face against the small, round airplane window.
He didn't need to look far.
Parked thirty yards away on the tarmac, right beside the aircraft's nose gear, sat two black SUV's with federal transport security beacons flashing rhythmically against the overcast Chicago sky. And standing right beside them, holding a clipboard with an injunction order signed by a federal magistrate judge, was a portly TSA supervisor flanked by two airport police officers.
"You... you called federal marshals?" Daniel’s voice was a choked squeak.
"I called my legal counsel," I corrected him mildly, watching the scene unfold through the long glass windows of the terminal corridor where I had quietly re-entered the building. "It turns out that using hospital discretionary funds to finance international luxury travel with a pharmaceutical vendor constitutes federal wire fraud and medical board violations. Who knew?"
"Rachel, please—let's talk about this," Daniel pleaded, his voice shifting instantly from arrogant fury to pathetic supplication. "We can go home. We can talk like adults. Don't do this to my career, don't do this to my family—"
"Your family is currently standing in the aisle behind you looking very confused," I observed, watching through the glass as Richard and Lauren stood up from their seats, their faces turning pale as airline personnel blocked the exit rows. "Especially your father. Tell Richard I said hello, by the way. Remind him that corporate embezzlement audits have a funny way of digging up old skeletons in family trusts."
"Rachel—!"
Click.
I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and turned away from the boarding gate just as three uniformed security officers marched down the jet bridge toward Flight 844.
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The public humiliation was only the first phase. The real dismantling of the Bennett dynasty was about to begin.
My Uber was waiting outside to take me back to our suburban home—the house that was solely under my name, thanks to my uncle's insistence when we bought it twelve years ago. Daniel thought he was the architect of our life. He was about to learn that he was just a tenant facing an immediate eviction notice.
