Chapter 7 - Gate B12
We entered the private VIP concourse with an escort of airport security directors who bowed their heads respectfully at our badges.
Gate B12 was crowded with passengers boarding Flight 442 to Zurich, their passports in hand as the final call echoed over the intercom.
Richard and Elena were standing at the very front of the jet bridge line, handing their first-class tickets to the gate agent.
The computer screen chimed with an aggressive red error beep that made the gate agent pause and inspect the passport twice.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Crowe," the agent said politely. "There is a flag on your travel documents from the Department of Homeland Security."
Richard’s face twitched violently.
"That's absurd! Check the reservation again, under the corporate executive tier!"
"There's no need to check again, Richard," a woman's voice rang out across the waiting lounge.
The entire concourse turned to look as I stepped into the center of the walkway, wearing a pristine camel cashmere coat and dark sunglasses.
Richard froze, his jaw dropping open so wide his boarding pass slipped from his fingers and fluttered onto the carpeted floor.
"Martha?" he stammered, stepping back like he had just seen a ghost walk through the terminal walls.
"What... what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home!"
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Elena turned around, her eyes widening in immediate recognition and sheer dread as she saw who was walking right behind me.
Two Cook County sheriffs and three forensic accountants from the state attorney general's office moved into formation beside us.
