Chương 7
The question caught me off guard.
"No."
"Why?"
I looked through the cockpit doorway.
The airport lights reflected against the windows.
"Because he looked afraid every time he told the truth."
Captain Lewis nodded.
"I thought the same thing."
That surprised me.
"You saw that?"
"I've been flying for thirty years."
He folded his hands.
"People think pilots spend all their time watching instruments."
He glanced toward the cabin.
"We watch people too."
I smiled slightly.
It was the first normal emotion I had felt in hours.
Captain Lewis continued.
"The authorities will handle the passenger situation."
"I understand."
"But I need to tell you something else."
I waited.
"The message you received."
My attention sharpened.
"What about it?"
"Our communications team reviewed the information provided by the airline."
"And?"
He hesitated.
"The number does not belong to Claire Vance."
I already knew that.
But hearing it confirmed made my stomach tighten again.
"Do you know who it belongs to?"
"Not yet."
That answer should have made me feel worse.
Instead, it helped.
Because it was honest.
Nobody knew everything.
Not yet.
I left the aircraft about fifteen minutes later.
O'Hare was exactly what airports always were.
Busy.
Impatient.
Completely indifferent.
Thousands of people walked past me carrying coffee, luggage, and small pieces of their own lives.
Somewhere nearby, a child cried because he did not want to wear his jacket.
A man argued into a headset.
A woman laughed while reading a message.
The world had not changed.
Only mine had.
At gate B4, I found the legal team waiting.
Rachel Donovan spotted me first.
She was one of the attorneys handling the case against Arthur Vance.
She had short brown hair, a habit of tapping her pen against her notebook when thinking, and absolutely no patience for unnecessary drama.
Which was one of the reasons I liked working with her.
"Daniel."
She walked quickly toward me.
"You were supposed to text me when you landed."
"I was busy."
She stopped.
That was when she noticed my expression.
"What happened?"
I looked around.
Not because I was afraid someone was listening.
Because airports had a strange way of making private conversations feel public.
"I need to explain something."
Five minutes later, Rachel had stopped tapping her pen.
Ten minutes later, she had called another attorney.
Fifteen minutes later, she looked like she had aged several years.
"Claire Vance was on your flight?"
I nodded.
"And her son was seated next to you?"
"Yes."
Rachel rubbed her forehead.
"This is not good."
"No."
"Did she access your materials?"
"I don't know."
That answer bothered her.
Not because she thought I had made a mistake.
Because uncertainty was dangerous.
"Where is your bag now?"
I lifted it.
"Still with me."
She looked relieved for about two seconds.
Then the relief disappeared.
"Daniel."
"What?"
"If they knew enough to place her there, they may know more than we thought."
I knew she was right.
The case against Arthur Vance had always involved more than missing money.
The reason I had been called as a witness was because of a pattern.
A series of small decisions.
Small transfers.
Small approvals.
Things that looked meaningless when viewed separately.
Together, they created a picture.
The kind of picture powerful people hated.
Because it did not rely on one mistake.
It showed a habit.
Rachel lowered her voice.
"Did Ethan say anything else?"
I looked at her.
That question bothered me.
Not because she asked.
Because she immediately understood the importance of him.
"He said his mother told him someone would make sure I missed my appointment."
Rachel's expression changed.
"Someone?"
"That was his word."
She looked toward the airport crowd.
"Not uncle."
"Not lawyer."
"Not employee."
"No."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Rachel said something quietly.
"Daniel, you need to hear this."
I waited.
"We received a call this morning."
"From who?"
"An anonymous caller."
My stomach tightened.
"What did they say?"
Rachel looked directly at me.
"They said you would not make it to Chicago."
The noise of the airport seemed to fade.
"When did they call?"
"Three hours before your flight."
I looked down at my phone.
The unknown messages.
The seat.
The accusation.
The child.
All of it had started before I even sat down.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we didn't know if it was serious."
I looked at her.
She looked frustrated.
Not defensive.
Frustrated with herself.
"We get threats sometimes."
"Against witnesses?"
"Against everyone involved in high-profile cases."
She paused.
"Most are empty."
"But this wasn't."
"No."
The answer was quiet.
"No, it wasn't."
My phone vibrated again.
Neither of us moved.
Rachel looked at the screen.
"Don't open it."
I stared at the notification.
Another message.
Another unknown number.
But this time, it was different.
Because it included a name.
Daniel.
We know Ethan talked.
I felt the cold return.
Not because they knew.
Because they knew immediately.
Rachel saw my face.
"What is it?"
I turned the screen toward her.
She read the message once.
Then again.
And for the first time since I had known her, Rachel looked genuinely afraid.
"They're watching more than your schedule."
She looked toward the crowded terminal.
"They're watching you."
They were watching you.
The sentence stayed with me longer than the message itself.
I looked around the terminal again.
Hundreds of people moved through the airport without noticing anything unusual.
A family argued over a suitcase.
A teenager laughed at something on his phone.
A man in a business suit spilled coffee on his sleeve and looked personally betrayed by the universe.
Nothing looked dangerous.
That was the problem.
Danger rarely announced itself.
Rachel touched my arm.
"Daniel."
I looked at her.
"Don't stand here."
The urgency in her voice was quiet.
That made it more serious.
"What do you want to do?"
"We go somewhere private, and we call the authorities handling the case."
May you like
I nodded.
For the first time all day, I stopped trying to solve everything myself.
