Chapter 4 - The Predator's Table
The restaurant was a dimly lit, wood-paneled steakhouse tucked away in the Loop, the kind of place where corporate mergers were quietly negotiated over dry-aged ribeyes and overpriced Scotch. The booths were high-backed and private, designed for hushed conversations that needed to stay far away from regulatory ears.
I sat in the corner booth, wearing a simple black cashmere turtleneck and a vintage silver watch that I had bought with my very first paycheck after starting my logistics company.
At exactly 7:00 PM, the host escorted a tall, silver-haired man with an expensive tailored suit and an unmistakable aura of casual arrogance toward my table.
David Vance hadn't changed much. He had traded his younger, slicker look for distinguished grey temples and a slightly softer waistline, but the predatory gleam in his eyes remained entirely intact.
—Elena Vance? No, excuse me—it’s Elena, right? he said smoothly, sliding into the leather booth opposite me without waiting for an invitation. He didn't recognize my married name on the reservation; I had booked under my old maiden name, banking on his massive ego to make him assume I was just a desperate former employee crawling back for closure.
He signaled the waiter with a lazy flick of two fingers. —Scotch, neat. Whatever you have that's old and expensive.
I waited until the waiter hurried away before I spoke.
—It’s good to see you, David. You look well for a man who helped orchestrate an illegal termination twelve years ago.
David didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He simply let out a low, gravelly chuckle, picking up a linen napkin and spreading it across his lap with agonizing slowness.
—Always dramatic, Elena. I see losing your wings didn't cure you of your penchant for melodrama. Though I have to admit, I was surprised when your assistant reached out saying you wanted to talk about a potential buyout of your logistics portfolio by SkyLine. I didn't take you for a quitter.
—I’m not a quitter, David. I’m a realist, I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the table. —Apex Air has been bleeding cash, my logistics firm is overextended, and rumors of federal investigations into our regional maintenance logs are about to break in the morning press. If SkyLine wants to buy us out before the stock completely collapses, I’m listening. But my price isn't cash.
David’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of genuine professional interest cutting through his condescension. —Oh? What do you want then? A seat on SkyLine’s board? A parachute?
—I want a confession, I said, my voice dropping to a quiet, lethal register. —I want you to sign a sworn affidavit admitting that you engineered the diamond watch theft on Flight 412, that you paid the passenger two thousand dollars to plant the watch in my galley locker, and that you coerced Victoria and the rest of the crew to perjure themselves in the disciplinary hearing.
For a second, the table was dead silent.
Then, David threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a polite chuckle; it was a full, resonant laugh that drew a sharp look from the table next to us.
—You think you can blackmail me with a twelve-year-old HR dispute? he scoffed, leaning back and crossing his arms. —Statute of limitations on civil defamation expired years ago, Elena. And as for criminal conspiracy? There's no paper trail, no physical evidence, and no witnesses who would testify against me without destroying their own careers. Victoria is loyal to her family, not to some disgraced flight attendant.
—Is she? I asked softly.
David’s smile faltered just a fraction.
—What are you talking about?
—Victoria spent twenty minutes this afternoon begging Maya for immunity, I said, watching his face closely as I twisted the knife. —She told us about the safety waivers. She told us about the financial kickbacks. And yes, David... she told us about how you threatened to blackball her from the industry if she didn't stick to your script during my hearing.
The color didn't just drain from David’s face this time; it vanished entirely. The relaxed, arrogant posture stiffened instantly. He tried to mask it with a cold sneer, but his right hand—clutching his water glass—was trembling slightly.
—She’s bluffing, David muttered, though his voice sounded thin. —Victoria wouldn't cut her own throat. She’s too smart for that.
—She was smart enough to wear a very specific white-gold watch with a scratched crystal bezel today, I continued, my eyes locked onto his. —The exact same watch you bought her sister twelve years ago with the bonus you received the week I was fired.
David stared at me across the table, the mask completely gone now, replaced by the naked, cold panic of a man who realized he had been hunted down by his own past.
—You don't have enough to bring me down, Elena, he whispered, leaning in close across the candlelit table. —Even if you take me to court, I’ll drag your little logistics company through years of injunctions, tied-up capital, and public mudslinging until you're bankrupt. You won't survive the collateral damage.
—Maybe not, I whispered back, holding his gaze without a single tremor in my voice. —But I’m not fighting this alone anymore.
Before David could process my words, my phone buzzed softly against the tabletop.
May you like
I looked down at the screen. It was an encrypted push notification from Maya, accompanied by a single attachment and a short text message: The FAA just pulled SkyLine’s operating license for their regional fleet based on the unredacted maintenance files Victoria handed over twenty minutes ago. Your move.
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