Chapter 9 - THE AIRPORT THAT WAS A TRAP
The diversion suddenly became dangerous for reasons that had nothing to do with weather.
Mercer contacted air traffic control.
Another airport was considered.
Fuel.
Distance.
Weather.
Everything mattered.
No dramatic impossible maneuver.
Just choices with consequences.
The aircraft could reach an alternate.
Barely.
Mercer looked toward me.
“What would you do?”
For a moment, I remembered military cockpits.
Young men asking questions because they believed I always knew.
I never had.
Good pilots weren’t fearless.
They were disciplined enough to admit uncertainty.
“I’d choose the airport we trust, not the one someone chose for us.”
Mercer nodded.
“That’s my thinking.”
He changed the plan.
The cabin was told there would be another short delay.
Passengers groaned.
They had no idea what was happening.
That was probably for the best.
Then my phone rang.
Arthur.
I answered.
“Warren.”
His voice was almost cheerful.
“You disappoint me.”
“You tried to poison my daughter.”
“No.”
My grip tightened.
“She got sick.”
“I told my people nobody touches Norah.”
“Your people?”
Silence.
Then Arthur sighed.
“You still think I control all of this.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who does?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Where’s the ledger?”
“In London.”
“And Elias?”
“Alive.”
“Elena?”
Silence.
My heart stopped.
“Arthur.”
He whispered:
“I didn’t kill her.”
For four years, I had dreamed of finding the person responsible.
Now I finally had him on the phone.
But revenge felt strangely small compared with Norah sleeping twelve feet behind me.
“Then who did?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Elias.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Ask him.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Jillian entered moments later.
I looked at her.
“Did your father kill Elena?”
Her face drained of color.
“What?”
“Arthur says Elias killed her.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because Elena didn’t die in that crash.”
Everything inside me stopped.
Jillian’s eyes filled with tears.
“She survived.”
I grabbed the seat.
“What?”
“She was injured badly. Dad moved her before Arthur’s people reached the hospital.”
My voice broke.
“You’re telling me my wife is alive?”
Jillian nodded.
Tears spilled down her face.
“Yes.”
I could barely stand.
“Where?”
She swallowed.
“London.”
Four years.
Four years telling Norah her mother was gone.
Four years visiting a grave.
Four years waking up alone.
I wanted to scream.
Then Jillian continued.
“She wanted to come back.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“Why didn’t she?”
“Because someone threatened Norah.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Again.
Fear disguised as protection.
Then Jillian added the detail that cut deepest.
“Elena has been watching Norah grow through photographs.”
My throat closed.
“Who sent them?”
She looked at me.
May you like
“Arthur.”
And suddenly nothing made sense anymore.
