Chapter 5
The walk down the narrow aisle felt like a funeral march.
But I wasn’t the one who had died.
I held Ruby’s hand tightly, my posture completely straight, ignoring the murmurs of the passengers and the burning gaze of Rose at my back.
The security officers flanked me, looking uncomfortable but bound by protocol.
They led us past the curtain into the economy cabin, all the way to the very last row near the aft galley, the isolation seats.
“I’m sorry about this, ma’am,” the younger officer muttered, refusing to meet my eyes as he gestured to the window seat.
“Don’t be,” I said, my voice shockingly calm. “You’re just following the captain’s orders.”
I buckled Ruby in. She was trembling slightly, the wobbly drawing of our family crumpled in her small fist.
I gently pried the paper from her fingers, smoothed out the creases, and tucked it safely into my bag.
Then I pulled her head against my chest, stroking her hair until her breathing steadied.
“Is Dad mad at us?” she whispered into my sweater.
“No, sweetheart,” I said softly, staring out the scratched acrylic window at the endless blue sky. “Dad doesn’t know we’re here, but he’s going to find out very soon.”
Once Ruby drifted off to sleep, exhausted from crying, I pulled out my phone. I swiped my credit card to purchase the extravagant in-flight Wi-Fi. The little loading icon spun, and then the connection clicked into place.
I opened my messages and tapped on my father’s contact.
Alexander Vance. Chairman of the Board. Horizon Airlines.
Rachel: Dad, I’m on Flight 8008. Jet’s flight.
It took less than thirty seconds for the typing bubble to appear. My father, a man who managed thousands of employees and billions in assets, always answered me instantly.
Dad: I thought you were surprising him at the hotel. Why are you texting? Is the flight delayed?
Rachel: I surprised him on the plane, along with his mistress, who is wearing my stolen jewelry, carrying my limited-edition Birkin, and sitting in business class. Jet just used the intercom to announce that she is his wife and ordered security to detain me in the back of the plane because I threw water on her.
The typing bubble vanished.
A full minute passed.
I could almost picture the terrifying silence descending over my father’s corner office back in Chicago.
Dad: Are you and Ruby safe?
Rachel: Yes. Guarded by security in the back row.
Dad: He used the aircraft intercom and security personnel to settle a domestic dispute while masquerading his mistress as his wife?
Rachel: Yes. He also told her that he is your illegitimate son.
This time, my father didn’t reply with text. A document file came through via a secure link. It was a blank warrant authorization form from the firm’s head of legal.
Then another message.
Dad: The plane lands at JFK in two hours and fourteen minutes. I am boarding the corporate jet now. I will beat you there. Do not say a word to him. Let him dig the grave. I will bring the shovels.
I locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket.
The crushing grief that had paralyzed me in business class evaporated, replaced by a cold, absolute clarity.
Jet hadn’t just cheated on me. He had weaponized the very life I had given him to humiliate me. He had stolen from his wife, lied to his mistress, and endangered his career, all while believing he was untouchable.
He had forgotten who built his pedestal.
It was time to shatter it.