Chapter 10 - Grounding the Traitors
At 2:00 PM, Claire Montgomery entered my new office on the executive floor. The nameplate on the mahogany double doors had already been changed: *Emily Bennett, Chief Executive Officer.*
"Ms. Bennett," Claire said, holding a leather folio containing several pink operational slips. "The cleanup of Northstar Airlines is complete. Captain Mercer has touched down in London with Flight 412. The cabin crew who assisted Patricia—specifically Flight Attendant Reynolds, who deliberately insulted you and took orders to strand your luggage in the rain—have been met at Heathrow by airport security."
"And their status?" I asked, looking out over Central Park from my father's desk.
"Terminated immediately for gross misconduct and breach of safety protocols," Claire replied with a quiet, satisfying smile. "Their commercial flight certifications are being reviewed by the Civil Aviation Authority. Furthermore, the ground dispatch manager at JFK who accepted Julian’s cash bribes to falsify passenger manifests has been arrested."
"Good," I said. "What about Captain Mercer?"
"Captain Mercer followed protocol once your executive override was verified," Claire said. "In fact, his cockpit voice recorder proved he refused Julian’s direct order to divert the flight to a private airfield in the Azores. He preserved the evidence."
"Promote him to Chief of Fleet Operations," I ordered. "And issue a company-wide memo: every ground handler, baggage crew, and economy-class passenger aboard Northstar will be treated with absolute dignity. If I hear of a single supervisor abusing an entry-level worker, they will answer directly to me."
"Consider it done, ma'am," Claire said, bowing her head slightly before turning to leave.
Just as she reached the door, Marcus Vance walked in, his trench coat damp from the rain, his expression unusually grim.
"Marcus," I said, setting down my pen. "Arthur Sterling was formally arraigned an hour ago. Why do you look like we just lost?"
Marcus closed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt. He walked over to the desk, pulled a sealed evidence bag from his coat, and placed it between us.
Inside the bag was a charred, half-melted titanium flight recorder module.
"What is that?" I asked, a sudden chill creeping down my spine.
"This didn't come from Flight 412," Marcus said in a low, measured voice. "Three hours ago, our salvage crew finished dredging the private hangar in Long Island where Julian was originally supposed to meet Arthur Sterling's pilot."
"And?"
"This black box belonged to Northstar Charter 09," Marcus explained, leaning in. "The private flight your father took to Geneva seven years ago—the flight that crashed in the Alps, the crash that allegedly crippled his health and started his physical decline."
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My heart stopped. "That crash was ruled an engine mechanical failure due to severe icing."
"It wasn't mechanical failure, Emily," Marcus said, his eyes piercing into mine. "The flight data recorder was scrubbed, but Vance Forensics recovered the cockpit audio. Someone deliberately triggered the emergency fuel dump valves from the passenger cabin."
