" The world stopped spinning for Lydia. The words floated in the air, nonsensical and terrifying. Interpol, fraud, assault. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, no, you have the wrong person." "My husband is Victor Beaumont. He is a CEO. Call him. He is waiting for me." "Mr. Beaumont is currently being detained by customs and revenue officers inside the terminal, madam.
" The plainclothes detective spoke up from behind the sergeant. "It appears there was an attempt to move significant company assets into a personal offshore account about three hours ago, an action that was flagged and blocked by the primary creditor." The detective looked at Julian. Julian met his gaze and gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Blocked by him?" Lydia pointed a shaking finger at Julian. "He did this. He is the criminal. He hacked my bank." "He is the lawyer representing the bank that now owns your debt." the sergeant said, stepping closer. He pulled a pair of rigid steel handcuffs from his belt. "Mrs. Beaumont.
" "Please stand up and place your hands behind your back." "Do not make a scene." "We are authorized to use force if necessary." "I am not standing up." Lydia shrieked, kicking her legs out. She grabbed the armrests of her seat with a white-knuckled grip. "I am an American citizen. You cannot touch me. Rachel, tell them. Tell them he threatened me.
" Rachel, the flight attendant, who had endured hours of abuse, stepped forward. She held the incident log in her hands. She looked Lydia dead in the eye. "Officers." Rachel said, her voice steady and clear. "The passenger in 1F has been intoxicated and abusive since takeoff. She physically assaulted the passenger in 1A and threatened the crew.
It is all documented here. Lydia gasped. The betrayal felt like a physical blow. "You little snitch." Sergeant Davies barked. He moved with sudden speed, grabbing Lydia's wrist. She screamed, a high-pitched jagged sound that made the other passengers wince. "Get off me, Victor." "Victor." It was a pathetic, ugly struggle.
The woman who had boarded the plane looking like royalty was now being wrestled out of her seat, her Chanel skirt twisting, her expensive heels scuffing against the bulkhead. The metal cuffs clicked shut with a finality that echoed through the silent cabin. Click. Click. The officers hauled her to her feet.
She was weeping now, ugly, heaving sobs that smeared her mascara down her cheeks in black streaks. "Mr. Cross." She wailed, turning her head toward him as the police pushed her toward the aisle. "Mr. Cross, please. I am sorry. I did not mean it. I was stressed. Please tell them to let me go. I will do anything.
I will clean your suit. I will buy you 10 laptops." Julian stood up slowly. He smoothed the front of his shirt where the wine stain had dried into a dark jagged map of her prejudice. He picked up his trench coat and draped it over his arm. He looked at her and for a moment the cabin held its breath, wondering if he would show mercy.
