Chapter 4 - Landing In Aspen
The private jet terminal at Aspen-Pitkin County Airport was coated in a pristine blanket of fresh powder. Down the portable airstairs, the crisp alpine air hit our faces like a cold splash of reality. Patricia stumbled down the steps in her thin Italian leather boots, shivering uncontrollably because she had forgotten her down coat in the overhead bin three rows behind her in economy.
A luxury black Cadillac Escalade was idling near the tarmac, sent by the private chalet Patricia had booked. Standing next to it was the chalet’s concierge, holding a silver clipboard and looking anxiously toward our flight.
Patricia instantly tried to reclaim her dignity. She pushed past the other passengers, clutching her purse, and rushed straight toward the driver. “Finally! Young man, load these bags immediately. I am Patricia Bennett, and we have the Presidential Alpine Lodge reserved for the weekend. We've had a dreadful, barbaric flight and require immediate service.”
The concierge looked down at his clipboard, then glanced at me as I walked down the stairs in my tailored wool coat.
“Excuse me, ma'am,” the concierge said politely, stepping around Patricia. “Are you Ms. Nora Bennett?”
“I am,” I said.
“Welcome to Aspen, Ms. Bennett. The owner of the Alpine Lodge called twenty minutes ago. Because your firm oversees the regional resort consortium's air transport contract, your arrival takes precedence. However, there has been a billing conflict regarding the reservation under the name Patricia Bennett.”
Patricia stepped forward, her voice shrill. “What billing conflict? That chalet was paid in full six weeks ago with our family credit line!”
“Yes, ma'am,” the young man replied, unfazed by her outburst. “However, the card authorization was flagged and revoked by Bennett Aero Holdings’ fraud division about an hour ago during your flight. As a result, the Presidential Lodge has been released. Ms. Nora Bennett’s executive account has assumed the reservation for her personal team.”
Patricia’s mouth fell open. “You... you canceled my chalet? Where are we supposed to stay? The town is booked solid for the winter festival! Mason’s engagement dinner is supposed to be tonight!”
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Mason walked up, panting from dragging three heavy bags across the slush. “Mom, what’s going on? Where is the VIP shuttle?”
“The VIP shuttle is right here,” I said calmly, stepping toward the open door of the Escalade. “For me. As for you, Patricia, I hear there is a lovely two-star motel down near the lower valley highway. It builds character.”
