He ate like a man who had not a worry in the world. Lydia, conversely, could not eat. Her stomach was churning with a mix of alcohol, adrenaline, and a creeping, icy dread. She kept glancing at her phone, desperate for a text from Victor saying it was all a bad dream or that he had fixed it.
But the only notification she received was an automated alert from her banking app. Transaction declined. Uber Eats, $455. She froze. She tried to log into her bank account. Access denied. Account frozen by court order. Your NY20259981. It was happening. He was not bluffing. He was dismantling her life from 30,000 feet in the air, using nothing but Wi-Fi and his terrifying reputation.
Desperate for an ally, Lydia turned to the man in seat 2F, the elderly tourist she had tried to bond with earlier. "Can you believe this?" she whispered loudly, leaning back. "He is hacking my accounts. That man is a criminal. You saw him threaten me, did you not?" The man, whose name was Mr. Henderson, a retired architect from Chicago, slowly lowered his noise-canceling headphones.
He looked at Lydia with a mixture of pity and disgust. "Ma'am," Mr. Henderson said, his voice gravelly, "I saw you throw a glass of wine on a man who was minding his own business. I heard you call him names that I have not heard since the 1960s. If he is ruining your life, I would say he is doing the Lord's work.
He put his headphones back on and turned away. Lydia gasped, recoiling as if slapped. She looked around the cabin. Every face was turned away from her. The young couple in row three, the businessman in 2A, they were all avoiding eye contact. She was a pariah. Rachel, the flight attendant, walked by with a bottle of water for Julian.
Lydia grabbed her wrist. "Rachel, please." Lydia hissed. "I need another drink. I need to calm down." Rachel pulled her wrist away gently but firmly. "I cannot serve you any more alcohol, Mrs. Beaumont." "Captain's orders." "In fact, the captain has asked me to hand you this." Rachel produced a folded piece of paper with the airline's logo.
It was a formal warning card. Interference with flight crew while passenger assault level two threat. "If you continue to cause a disturbance." Rachel said, her voice devoid of its earlier warmth. "We will be forced to restrain you." Lydia crumpled the paper in her hand. She looked across at Julian. He was asleep now.
Or at least he appeared to be. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. How could he sleep? How could he rest while her world was burning? She did not know that Julian was not sleeping. He was meditating. He was visualizing the steps that would occur upon landing. He had already received the confirmation from his London associates.
The trap was set. The chess game was over. He was just waiting for the king to topple. The descent into London Heathrow was not gentle. It was a jarring physical reminder that the suspended reality of the last seven hours was coming to an end. The Boeing 777 punched through the low-hanging gray cloud layer that blanketed England.
The engines roaring as the landing gear deployed with a heavy mechanical thud that vibrated through the floorboards of the first-class cabin. For Lydia Beaumont, the turbulence was almost comforting. It matched the chaotic storm raging inside her head. She had spent the last two hours oscillating between paralyzing fear and a manic delusional confidence.
As the ground rushed up to meet them, a blur of wet tarmac and green fields, she had finally settled on a narrative that she believed would save her. "It is a misunderstanding." she told herself, reapplying her lipstick in the reflection of her darkened window. "It is just a misunderstanding." "Victor has fixed it.
" "The police are coming, yes, but they are coming to mediate. They are coming to escort a VIP away from a threatening passenger." "That is how the world works." "That is how it has always worked for people like me." She glanced across the aisle. Julian Cross was awake. He had been awake the entire time. He was currently methodically packing his briefcase.
