Chapter 7 - The Waiting Gate
At 4:15 PM, the executive departures lounge at Terminal 5 was quiet and bathed in the pale amber glow of the setting sun.
Daniel sat in an oversized leather armchair near the panoramic windows, a flute of vintage champagne resting on the small side table beside him. His cashmere overcoat was draped over the back of his chair; his boarding pass for British Airways Flight 218 stuck out from his passport holder.
He checked his Rolex. 4:20 PM.
Boarding had already commenced for First Class passengers.
He pulled out his phone and tapped Laura’s contact.
The phone rang four times before clicking to voicemail. He frowned, his brow furrowing in mild irritation. He texted her:
*Boarding now, darling. Where are you? The concierge has our priority bags.*
Thirty seconds later, the screen lit up with her reply:
*Security line at the private terminal was backed up. Just cleared TSA. Heading to Gate M10 now. Go ahead and board, I’ll be right behind you.*
Daniel smiled, a surge of adrenaline washing away his impatience.
He stood up, slung his weekender bag over his shoulder, took a final sip of champagne, and walked down the jet bridge corridor toward Gate M10.
Everything had gone according to plan.
By tomorrow morning, he would be waking up in a suite at the Dorchester in Mayfair. The funds in Belize would be cleared into his London wealth account. Claire would wake up in an empty house in Illinois, completely powerless, while Laura’s family would have no choice but to protect him to avoid a devastating public scandal before their IPO.
He was invincible.
He approached the gate agent, flashing his boarding pass with a charming smile.
“Mr. Vance,” the agent said, scanning the pass. The machine beeped, but instead of the usual green chime, a sharp red light flashed on the console.
The agent’s smile vanished. She tapped the keyboard rapidly.
“Is there an issue?” Daniel asked, his tone crisp and commanding.
“One moment, sir. There’s an administrative flag on your reservation. Let me call the supervisor.”
“I’m traveling First Class,” Daniel said, his voice tightening. “The flight is closing in ten minutes. Clear the flag immediately.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Vance,” a voice spoke from behind him.
Daniel turned.
Standing ten feet away, flanked by two armed airport police officers and a plainclothes detective, was Marcus Vance.
Daniel froze. His charming demeanor shattered like cheap glass.
“Marcus?” Daniel stammered, his eyes darting frantically across the terminal. “What... what are you doing here? Did something happen to Mom?”
“Mom died five years ago, Daniel,” Marcus said coldly, stepping forward. “And you didn't even bother to stay for the reception because you had a ‘client dinner’ in Miami.”
“What the hell is this?” Daniel hissed, dropping his voice as passengers began to stare. “I have an international business flight to catch. Get out of my way.”
The plainclothes detective stepped forward, pulling a gold badge from his jacket pocket.
“Daniel Vance, you are under arrest for aggravated identity theft, grand larceny, and corporate forgery pursuant to a warrant issued by the Circuit Court of Cook County.”
“This is an absurd mistake!” Daniel shouted, taking a step backward. “Call Arthur Peterson! Call Peterson Development right now! My wife is on her way to this gate!”
“Your wife is already here, Daniel,” another voice said.
Daniel turned toward the entrance of the gate concourse.
Laura Hayes walked through the security partition. She wasn't carrying her luggage. She wasn't wearing her wedding ring.
May you like
And walking right beside her, holding a thick red legal binder, was me.
***
