Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stella
I ’m glad Zane brought me here already and the airport’s familiar, otherwise it would have been a lot worse than it is. The thought of flying didn’t bother me until it was time to go through security. Then everything was suddenly too real.
We didn’t browse like Zane and I did. Zane’s panic attack in the Crowne’s lobby put us behind and we didn’t have time.
While we wait in line, Max talks me through what will happen, but he doesn’t prepare me for the TSA agent’s questions. She studies my driver’s license and looks at me, glances down at my driver’s license and squints into my eyes, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst. “Your license says you have blue eyes,” she says.
The saliva dries in my mouth. Max is ahead of me, dumping his things into a shallow grey bin to go through the x-ray, and I try to act like I fly every day and not freak out.
“I wanted to try a new color,” I say calmly, attempting to smile. “I’m wearing contacts.” Sweat slides down my back.
“Nice choice. Green definitely suits you. Have a nice flight.” She slides my license and boarding pass across the small counter, and her attention shifts to the woman next in line. I’m already forgotten.
Quickly, I shove my driver’s license into my wallet and put my things into a bin. I only brought my purse and cell phone. I nudge my sandals off and add them too, and it feels strange standing barefoot holding my hands above my head in a twirly thing as it scans my body for weapons.
Max is finished and he waits off to the side, his shoes on his feet. He said he was worried about my fake IDs, but the TSA agent seemed more concerned with my eye color than the look of my license. A definite miscalculation on our parts, and I’ll ask Mel if I should wear the contacts or not on the return flight. I have to remember my name is Kendra Lovelace and if someone addresses me that way, I need to respond. Nathalie’s mistake scared all of us.
I don’t blame her. I didn’t notice her slip-up until Zane jumped on her the second we stepped into Max’s suite. He assumed she did it on purpose, but we can’t be like that. We have to trust each other. Nathalie didn’t mean anything by it, and I can only hope Huxley was too busy screaming to hear anything else.
It was a valuable lessoned learned. We can never let our guard down, not even for a second.
Max and I walk to our terminal. He’s confident and he knows where he’s going. The airport beyond the security checkpoint is like Zane described. Lots of shops, restaurants, and bars. People drinking though it isn’t yet noon. Little kids running around, and harried parents chasing after them. Everyone is pulling carry-ons behind them. Max and I are traveling light—we didn’t want anything slowing us down. A suitcase for each of us that we checked when we printed our tickets. He doesn’t have a bag to take on the plane, and I only have the purse Zane bought for me.
Bored but efficient, the gate agent scans my boarding pass, and I walk into the jetway, heat from the outside pushing away the airport’s air conditioning.
The plane’s aisle is crowded, people storing their carry-ons in the overhead compartments and trying to get comfortable before takeoff, and we stand awkwardly idle, the scent of the plane foreign and stale, waiting for several passengers to sit down. We find our row, and I settle into the seat next to the window. Max sits in the middle, and a woman plops into the aisle seat, earbuds in her ears.
“Thanks for helping me through security,” I say, twisting on the cushion, the armrest digging into my side. My heart’s thrumming and I’m too nervous to look out the window.
“Yeah. You’ve flown before, haven’t you?” he asks, noticing my fingers twisted in my lap.
“No. I’ve never needed to. I’ve never been out of the city.”
Max chuckles. “Christ.” He half rises out of his seat, turns toward the rear of the plane, and gestures to a flight attendant. She scoots around a passenger standing in the narrow aisle and approaches us.
“This woman’s never flown before. She needs a drink, as soon as possible.”
The flight attendant winks. “On the house.”
She returns holding a stemless wineglass, and I sip the rosé. I didn’t need it, but protesting would have seemed rude. Max pats my knee and buckles his seatbelt. Sitting on the plane isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but after Zane’s panic attack, it’s difficult to push Lark and Kagan out of my mind. How scared they must have been, knowing they were going to die and not being able to do anything about it.
I finish my wine, and a flight attendant snags the glass as she quickly passes our row. She doesn’t ask if I want another, but I wouldn’t have ordered one anyway.
We watch the safety demonstration, and unease prickles my skin. I don’t like listening to the list of precautions and I’m glad my seat isn’t located near an emergency exit. I’d be too paralyzed by fear to help anyone.
The plane begins to taxi down the long runway, and we gradually pick up speed. During takeoff, I grip the armrests and breathe through my nose. The warm, stuffy air turns my stomach, and the angle of the plane doesn’t help. Despite the wind and the rain, the ascent is smooth and as we level off, so does my nerves.
The pilot greets us, his voice tinny over the speakers, and says the flight from King’s Crossing to DC is a little over three hours. He tells us we’re free to stand if necessary and invites us to enjoy the flight.
“So, you and Zarah.” I’ve been wanting to talk to him, but at the Crowne, we’re never alone.
The woman sitting on his other side unlatches her seatbelt and stumbles down the aisle toward the lavatory, and Max waits to speak until she’s out of earshot. “She’s so...pure. Unjaded, you know?”
His answer disappoints me and I quirk my lips. “She’s like that because of the drugs, Max. Once she’s off that crap and all her memories surface, do you think she’s going to still be so demure? She was sexually assaulted, God knows how many times. I saw the bruises on her body myself. Ash sold her to men who paid to hit and rape her. They hated who she is and what her father did to them, and they wanted revenge. Her doctor’s going to wean her off that garbage as quickly as he can, and unjaded is the last thing she’s going to be.”
Max slouches in his chair. “I know. I guess I didn’t mean it like that. Sheltered doesn’t mean unworldly.”
“Sheltered? No. Imprisoned? Yes.”
“How did you live through it?” he asks, shifting. He’s too tall, and his knees bump the seat in front of him. Mel was going to purchase us first-class seats, but she changed her mind and said sitting in business class would help us blend in.
“By planning this. Hoping for this. I hated Zane for a long time, for believing Ash over me. I love him, but I’m going to need a lot of time to learn to trust him and to let all this go. His lifestyle isn’t what I pictured for myself, and you have to remember where Zarah comes from. She’s the heiress of Maddox Industries. She has more money hanging in her closet than you make in several years. When I met her, she had no career aspirations, no plans.”
Max’s eyes scan my face. His glasses are smudged. “You don’t think much of her.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I love her like a sister. Denton showed me a clip of her breakdown at the Lyndhurst, and my heart broke. I knew she didn’t belong at Quiet Meadows and that we had to get her out of there, and I’m grateful Zane finally understood that too, even if I had to break into her room to get him to see it. But her life, Zane’s life, they don’t live how we live. The things we depend on, they take for granted. It was hard to feel like I belonged with Zane when he and I started dating.”
He blows out a breath and waves off my warning. “I’m not worried about that part of it. Her money doesn’t intimidate me.” He pauses. “I’m falling in love with her, Stella.”
“Without the drugs, she might not be the same person she is now. Maybe she’ll be better, but maybe she’ll be worse. She’s going to live with that trauma for the rest of her life. Have you slept with her?”
He can’t meet my eyes and looks over my shoulder out the window. There’s nothing to see but grey clouds. “I tried to... touch her, and she flipped out.”
“After I escaped, Zane found me and I tried to tell him what happened, but he wouldn’t listen. He believed the pictures and thought I’d run away with Sergio Cardello. He thought we were lovers. We—” I fumble, trying to think of how to describe what we did— “were intimate. He was angry and rough, really rough. He hurt me—”
“I’m not Zane,” he snaps. “I would never hurt Zarah making love to her.”
I lay a hand on his forearm. “I know. I’m just saying, you may be waiting for a long time, and after that wait, you might not like what you find. Like me.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, his shoulders stiff.
I hate warning him. Zarah was a sweet girl, teaching me how to plan parties and taking me shopping, and I’d discovered there was a real woman under the money, worried about who she would be without her family name. Who she could be without her family name. Once Zarah is off those drugs, maybe she’ll still be that sweet girl and Max can help her figure out who she wants to be and what she wants out of her future. I don’t know.
Max and I don’t talk for the rest of the flight. I give in to my curiosity and gaze out the little window at the white, puffy clouds. We flew out of the bad weather and whatever state we’re flying over now is enjoying a sunny day.
We land without incident, the wheels hitting the runway, jolting me just enough my heart leaps into my throat. The plane taxis to an empty jetway, and we wait another twenty minutes for the flight attendant to open the plane’s door. Passengers fidget and clog the aisle, anxious to catch a connecting flight or reach their destination. Max and I don’t stand until the aisle clears and we have room to leave our seats.
The temperature is hot and the air feels wet. Even our most humid days in Minnesota feel nothing like this, and my dress sticks to my skin the minute I deplane.
Our suitcases bump in front of us on the luggage carousel, and Max easily grabs their handles. I keep glancing over my shoulder expecting to catch someone following us, and he notices and elbows me. “Stop it. No one but my editor and the team knows we’re here. Act natural.”
“I’ll try,” I say, though his words don’t reassure me.
There’s a long line of taxis waiting for passengers who need a ride, and Max chooses one. He texts Mel we landed safely and that we’re on the way to the hotel.
Zane messages me a second later. I miss you. Be careful.
I send him an I miss you too and a red heart in response and slip my phone into my purse.
Using her own credit card to make our reservations, Mel booked us rooms at the hotel in the L’Enfant Plaza, and we won’t have to walk far to reach the NTSB offices. We don’t have an appointment, and tomorrow morning Max will call and ask if there’s someone available we can talk to. In the meantime, he elects room service in his room alone leaving me to do whatever I want. It isn’t smart to wander the city by myself, though there is a lot to do within walking distance. It’s tempting to explore the grounds and get some air, or even look around the hotel, but I feel safer in my room.
I lie on the bed, lonely, a weight pulling me down. I feel like I betrayed Zarah, and maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. She’s going to need lots of people around her in the coming months, and I shouldn’t be pushing anyone away who wants to help her.
It still stings how out of place I felt while I dated Zane. I was a payroll clerk, he was the CEO. I was two paychecks away from food stamps, he was a billionaire. Max is down to earth, fights for human rights, for change. He’s a pioneer, and Zarah parties. Well, she used to.
Who am I now? I’m no closer to knowing than Zarah is.
In the end, I order room service too, and stay inside. I’m too scared to go anywhere alone, and I don’t want to get lost and not find my way back.
I’ve been trying to find my way all my life.
I’m tired of failing.
I toss and turn all night, and the next morning, I have to drag my butt out of bed. I didn’t sleep well—I’m used to Quinn’s steady breathing or Zane’s strong arms wrapped around me. I shower, but the cool water doesn’t wake me up. Feeling like I’m sleepwalking, I dry my hair using the hairdryer attached to the wall next to the vanity and apply my makeup, dabbing a little extra concealer under my eyes. Max knocks on my door just as I’m finishing and I let him in. He hands me a disposal cup of coffee, and I sip, needing the caffeine. I’m grateful the resentment our talk on the plane caused is gone. His eyes are bright, and he’s dressed in his standard khaki pants, dress shirt, and vest. The layers look hot, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“We have an appointment at eleven. I’m hoping we can find out what we need to know and catch a late flight back to KC tonight.”
“What’s the rush? Zarah?” I ask, but I’m not disappointed he wants to cut our trip short. I feel exposed outside of King’s Crossing, though, realistically, I may be safer outside the city than I am in it. I appreciate Mel’s thoughtfulness, but I don’t think I was ready for a trip like this. If Zane was with us I could have drawn from his strength, but he can’t leave Nathalie. After seeing his reaction to me flying, I realize he couldn’t have boarded a plane anyway, and no matter how scared I am, I need to be a part of our plan in every way I can be.
“A little. I miss her like crazy.”
I smile in empathy. I miss Zane too, but it’ll be good to leave a day early, no matter the reason. If we find out what we think we’re going to find out, Zane and Mel will need to know as quickly as possible, and I don’t want to tell him anything over the phone, even if it’s good news. There’s still a chance what we find out today will be bad, really bad. What I suspect hasn’t been proven true. Clayton included Lark in that email, but I choose to believe she’s innocent when she could be anything but.
We stop to eat a light breakfast in the dining room (he chooses scrambled eggs and bacon and I order French toast) but we’re both too nervous to eat, and it’s not long after the server sets our plates down that Max is paying our bill.
The layout’s confusing, and he asks directions to the building that houses the NTSB offices. We walk past several security guards, but no one gives us a second glance. The building has a governmental feel, as it should, but it brings back my days of having to sit at social services waiting to speak to my social worker. I hated days like that. Listening to her tell me my foster parents didn’t want me anymore, or things changed, or promises were broken.
The quiet floor where we’re meeting the NTSB agent feels like that.
A slim woman wearing a taupe pantsuit, a blush pink camisole, and beige heels greets us, shaking our hands firmly. “We haven’t had inquiries about this crash in several years.” She leads us to a small office, and model airplanes and trains cover every available space. The blinds are closed, hiding the view out her window.
“I’m writing a story for the King’s Crossing Chronicle,” Max says, holding out his business card. “Max Cook.”
“Patty Klein. Pleased to meet you.”
She nods at me but doesn’t ask my name. I don’t offer it.
“Why are you investigating the crash?” Patty asks, lowering into the chair behind her desk. She’s pretty. Younger than I thought she’d be. I pictured us speaking to a crusty old man, bored with his job, bored with his life. Patty’s neither and a curious gleam lights her eyes.
“You know we live in the same city as Zane and Zarah Maddox,” Max says, sinking into a chair. “There’s always been a mysterious quality about the crash. People betting it wasn’t an accident. People believing it was a storm and nothing more.”
“What do you think?” she asks.
“I know Kagan and Lark Maddox were on that private plane alone. I know the senator who was supposedly on the flight is, in fact, living a quiet, and not quite anonymous, life, in Cabo San Lucas with his kids’ nanny and not Lydia Graham, who is still hosting poker parties for LA’s rich and famous if the Feds cared to look. I know the pilot’s family came into some money after his death. What I want to know is why a lowly reporter knows these things, but no one else does.”
Patty tips her head in speculation. “The FBI took possession of the box.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell me that.”
She blushes. “True, but you know we found it or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Then why isn’t anything being done?” Max asks, resting an ankle on his knee. He’s used to questioning people. He was a good choice.
“Maybe there’s nothing to do,” Patty says.
“Maybe I can sell you a bridge.”
“Planes crash, unfortunately, all the time. Nothing sinister about it.”
“Then I guess we’re wasting our time...and yours.” Max rises from the chair and my heart sinks. He couldn’t be giving up this easily. Patty could have told us this over the phone.
“I didn’t say that.”
Max sits. “Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying we’re not supposed to have the recording that was retrieved from the box, but my boss hates the FBI and kept a copy out of spite. The fact that we have it in our possession is classified information.”
“Do you know what’s on the recording?” Max asks.
Patty bites her lip. “Yes.”
“Is it as bad as we think it is?”
She swallows. “Yes.”
Max jiggles his leg. No one wants to hear that recording, but we need to. “Will you let us listen to it?”
“Who’s she?” Patty asks, like I’m not in the room and can’t hear every single thing she says.
Max pauses. We didn’t exactly invent a good backstory for me. He flicks me a glance and tells Patty the truth. “Zane Maddox’s fiancée.”
She smirks. “I’m disappointed you think you can lie to me. I watch TV and read the rags just like everyone else. Nathalie Barton is engaged to Zane Maddox, one of the richest men in the world. She was a stripper and he fell in love. Whether you believe that’s romantic or not isn’t the point. I know this woman isn’t his fiancée, and you can’t convince me she is.” She stands. “I think we’re done here.”
Max blinks and calmly waits. Annoyed, Patty meet his eyes, and he says, “His real one.”
I squirm. He’s being too accommodating, too trusting. He’s betting Patty wants to help us and will in exchange for exclusive gossip, but I’ve been living real life. I know people are only in it for themselves, and the minute we leave, Patty will call the FBI. We’re not far from their headquarters in Quantico. The asshole working for Clayton could see to it we don’t make it back to King’s Crossing.
Patty searches my features, and Max nudges her along, sliding the glasses off my face. “Stella Mayfair. I recognize you now. You’re supposed to be dead. I saw the news clip and watched Zane Maddox speak to the reporters outside the hospital.” Her eyes widen. “Your death was a hoax.”
Zane’s going to be pissed.
“In the past five years, a lot of things have been,” Max says.
Patty presses her lips together, assessing us. Wondering just what the fuck is going on. Her curiosity wins, and she nods. “Fine. But if this bounces back to me, I’ll deny it with every breath I have. There are already rumors there’s a snitch in the building, and I’m not getting messed up in this.”
“We’re not going to say anything,” Max says, standing.
She walks around her desk, and I trail behind them into the bright hallway. A man wearing a navy suit frowns at us, but Patty ignores him.
“That’s Roscoe. He despises me,” she whispers, leading us down the corridor. She stops in front of a door marked Audio Room and uses a key attached to a springy cord fastened around her wrist that I didn’t notice before.
“Why?” Max asks.
“He hates his job, but I find it fascinating. I spend hours analyzing black box voice recordings. It’s how I know we have the Maddoxes’ flight recording to begin with. Roscoe sits in his office and binges Netflix between crashes. I do my job because I think one day I’ll make a difference. Today may be one of those rare days.”
The audio room is tiny, and the overhead light flickers, casting dim shadows in the corners. A silver laptop sits on a small conference table.
Wiggling the mouse, Patty wakes up the computer. “Voice recorders capture the last two hours of a flight. In this instance, I think you’ll need to listen to only the last half an hour or so.”
“No one spoke for an hour and a half before that?” Max asks skeptically, settling at the table.
She sucks in a breath. “You’re right, only Kagan and Lark were on that flight. Kagan made a few business calls, and Lark napped. At least, that’s what she told Kagan she was going to do, then she didn’t speak until Kagan told her to answer her phone. Listen for yourself.”
I sit next to Max, and Patty passes us Bluetooth headphones. Max and I adjust them over our ears, and Patty waits until we both nod at her to continue. She cues up the recording and presses a button. Suddenly, Kagan’s voice and a constant buzz of static fills my ears. He’s muted but clear, like the recording has been stripped to subtract background noise.
Max stares at the floor, listening, concentrating. It sounds like Kagan is completing a business deal. His deep baritone zips along my skin, and I think that’s how Zane is going to sound in twenty years. Strong, confident, but compassionate. He ends the call inquiring about the man’s wife, and he asks what he can do to help. The request brings me back to when I was keeping track of the RSVPs for Zane’s party and Zarah telling me to order a gift for guests who couldn’t attend due to their baby’s difficult birth. I think of warning off Max, and I’m ashamed I stuck my nose where it doesn’t belong.
Caught in my reverie, I miss the ending of the phone call, and Kagan saying, “Richard” jolts me back to the audio room. My lips pop open in surprise. In all this, Denton never mentioned he was one of the last people to speak to Kagan Maddox before his death.
The recording doesn’t pick up the other side of the conversation, of course, and we don’t hear Denton’s response.
“He’s not going for it,” Kagan says, then silence.
“I wanted Zane and Zarah in on it,” he continues, stops. Then, “Clayton said he won’t commit because of prior obligations, and we’ll look for other donors. He’s never had a problem throwing money at something like this before, but perhaps this particular venture doesn’t interest him.”
I don’t understand what they’re talking about. It sounds like Kagan was exploring charity work of some kind and wanted Zane and Zarah to be involved, but Zane never said anything to me. What kind of project was Kagan looking into that he needed and wanted Clayton Black’s help? Kagan Maddox could fund anything alone, but then Kagan answers my question.
“Ash and Zarah will end up getting married. Lark doesn’t like the idea, but that kid is in love. It would be a nice legacy to leave to our grandkids.”
Ash had even Kagan fooled. Maybe Zane wasn’t as gullible as I thought. If Zane trusted Ash as much as Kagan seems to have trusted Clayton, it was no wonder Zane wouldn’t listen to me.
Max is still staring at the floor.
Kagan’s voice is muffled in places, and so far, we haven’t heard Lark speak.
“No, I don’t mind. He’s a little rough around the edges, but so is Zane. Zarah’s young, and Lark won’t let her marry until she’s twenty-five. We’ve talked about that, but he’s a good kid and he can ask on her twenty-third birthday. He adores her—I can see it when they’re together. He’ll wait through a two-year engagement. Especially if they have permission to live together, and I have no problem with that.”
Max stiffens. He doesn’t like hearing about Zarah marrying another man. I wonder how Zarah and Ash’s relationship would have worked out had Kagan and Lark survived or if the plane hadn’t crashed at all. Ash wouldn’t have been able to hide his cruelty for long. Eventually, his true colors would have come out.
“When I get back to the office, we’ll discuss it further. Hold down the fort.”
For a few minutes there’s nothing but silence, and then we hear Kagan’s voice again. “Lark, your phone.”
“Hmmm?” Had her voice been any lower, the hum would have been lost in the static, but her pure soprano is smooth and gentle and rises just enough above the buzz.
“Your phone.”
“Thanks.”
Even after twenty-five years of marriage, Kagan’s voice is full of affection, and I blink back tears. How lovely it would be to find a love that would last a lifetime.
Lark speaks, assumably answering her phone. “Hello?” There’s a rustling, like maybe she stood up. I try to imagine it, though it’s difficult because I can’t recall ever seeing a picture of her. A grown-up Zarah enters my mind. Bronzed skin, dark hair and eyes.
She’s silent, listening, and then, “Yes, I saw it. I wish you wouldn’t do this. Do you know how many lives you’re destroying?”
This is the phone call we’ve been waiting for, and we’re already several minutes into the recording.
Her voice drops to a whisper, and I have to remember we aren’t listening to a recording of only her speaking into the phone, we’re listening to the entire plane. Other noises drown her out, a crinkling like Kagan is opening a newspaper or bag of chips.
The pilot’s voice surprises me—he’s muttering under his breath.
I swallow hard.
“You know how wrong this is. I see it as a gift you accidentally sent me that email. I was meant to talk you out of these deals. The money isn’t worth it. Think of what you’ll do to your family if they find out.”
Her voice is soft, almost tender. The Blacks and the Maddoxes were very close families, and it’s sad the Maddoxes were so trusting. Kagan had no idea what Clayton was capable of. He had no idea that six months after his death, Ash would sell his daughter for millions. Kagan died thinking Ash loved Zarah and that they would have a future, and in turn, he’d been building a legacy for their children.
I rub my eyes and try not to cry.
“No. I’m not going to join you or condone any of this violence.” She says something else, lowering her voice even more, and the recorder couldn’t pick it up. There’s a burst of static and then, “No, you won’t change my mind. Kagan’s thinking of our kids, and what you’re doing will destroy what he’s planning. Inviting war into our homes...I can’t let you do that.”
She’s silent, listening to Clayton, and she ends the call saying, “I’ll give you time to reconsider. If you still don’t agree, I’ll go to the proper authorities.”
There isn’t anything on the tape for two minutes...I count on the wall clock mounted above the table. I’m beginning to think that’s the end but suddenly Lark shrieks and Kagan shouts, “What the hell is happening?”
The pilot starts mumbling. It’s difficult to hear him over Lark’s and Kagan’s screams, but I pick out the words, “I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m sorry for everything and please kiss Lynn for me. I love you so much. Goodbye.”
My heart slams against my ribs, and a cold sweat covers my body.
A loud crash bashes in my ears.
The recording stops.
Tears run down my face.
Max slides his glasses off and wipes his eyes.
Patty places a box of tissues onto the table and I gratefully blot my cheeks.
“It’s always difficult to listen to the last few moments of someone’s life. I’ll never get used to it,” she says, her voice watery.
Max sniffles and clears his throat. He regains his composure faster than I do. “There wasn’t a flight attendant on board?”
“No. There was one scheduled, but she didn’t show up and they departed without her.”
“What did you declare as the cause of the crash?”
Patty shrugs. “Weather. Spatial disorientation. It was storming that day and the pilot panicked. We found the box, retrieved the recording, and then the FBI swooped in. They took everything and we didn’t hear anything further. Another plane crashed not long after that, and the Maddox tragedy was swept under the rug. There wasn’t more we could do or were allowed to do. We moved on, and five years later you’re sitting here with a dead woman.” She crosses her legs and glares at us.
“I want to give you something because you didn’t have to let us listen to that,” Max says, “but I don’t know how much I’m at liberty to say. We needed the conversation between Lark and the person on the other end of her phone call.”
“Who was she speaking to?”
“Clayton Black.”
Patty deflates. “I guess that’s it then. Kagan Maddox spoke to his business partner, his wife spoke with Clayton Black, and the pilot was turned upside down in the storm. If the FBI had a reason to bury this, we’ll never know.”
“The FBI had a very good reason. Lark and Black were arguing about something he shouldn’t have been doing, and is still doing, presumably. The FBI buried the box for Black. We’re working on exposing him.”
She collects our headsets and places them in a storage cabinet. “Then I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Could we have a copy of the transcript? We’d like to give it to Zane. He’s had a fear all this time his parents were mixed up in it. It will ease his mind to have proof of the contrary.”
“Yes, but under no circumstances can you reveal who gave it to you. I’ll lose my job, maybe more if what you say is true.” Patty steps into the hallway and ten minutes later comes back holding a manila envelope. She escorts us to the elevator banks.
“By chance, you wouldn’t know if the bodies were recovered?” Max asks, gripping the envelope like his life depends on what’s inside.
“The pilot’s body washed up a hundred miles away from the crash site. His remains were returned to his wife. We never did find Kagan’s and Lark’s bodies. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for your time,” Max says, shaking her hand. He presses the elevator’s call button.
Patty bites her lip and turns to me. “When my secretary scheduled your appointment, I went back and watched clips of Zarah and Zane Maddox after their parents passed away. Lark and Kagan were the royalty of King’s Crossing, and their deaths caused almost as much of a stir as John F. Kennedy Jr.’s, his wife, Carolyn’s, and her sister’s. Coincidentally, victims of a plane crash as well. Death can haunt us, Miss Mayfair. I’ve seen my share in the field—I’m not always sitting behind my desk. I hope you can help Zane heal, once and for all, when this is all laid to rest.”
I try to smile. “Life is complicated.”
“It’s not so complicated,” Patty disagrees as Max steps into the elevator. “We live, we love, we die. You’ve died and it may be tempting to stay that way, but you’ll leave your ghost behind. There are more than enough floating around. He needs you. Have a safe flight back.”
“Thank you. But that’s out of our hands, isn’t it?” I step into the elevator and lean against the wall.
The doors close, blocking out Patty’s wistful smile.
“Nosey,” Max says, a corner of his mouth lifting.
“She’s a romantic,” I say.
He laughs. “You try not to be, but so are you.”
I can’t disagree, but the only thing that’s gotten me is a broken heart.
Max changes our flight departure, and we’re at the airport by six that evening. The lines through security are longer than in King’s Crossing, and there’s no time to sight-see, barely time to eat a meal before we have to call a taxi. He’s bouncing, excited to see Zarah again, excited to dig into what we discovered. Zane will be relieved his mother is innocent. Maybe he never had doubts.
I didn’t want to doubt her either, and I’m glad I don’t have to tell him his mother was involved.
I walk through security easier this time, and confidently, I meet the eyes of the TSA agent—without my colored contacts. He smiles and dismisses me as quickly as the other agent in King’s Crossing. We don’t have to wait long at the terminal, and Max asks to trade seats with me on the plane so he can sit near the aisle.
Lark never mentioned Clayton’s email to anyone. She had faith she could turn him around and keep his activities buried. If anything, for their children’s sake.
Clayton led Kagan to believe they were good friends. It’s a lot of work, selling weapons on the black market while pretending to be a pillar of the community, and he was good at it. If Kagan sucked down the lies, then I have to stop giving Zane a hard time for doing the same thing.
After listening to the recording, every time we fly through a bit of turbulence, I flinch.
Max is oblivious, tapping notes into his phone. He’s planning a huge exposé, but our plans aren’t quite done yet.
We have the email screenshot I took at Black Enterprises when I was a prisoner there. We have my testimony I was held involuntarily. We have Nathalie’s testimony she worked as a prostitute in Ash’s escort service. We have Zarah’s medical records and her doctor’s testimony indicating she was receiving unnecessary drugs during her stay at Quiet Meadows. But all that still isn’t enough to destroy the Blacks for everything they’ve done.
Nathalie confirmed my suspicions that bad things happen to the women who aren’t useful to Ash anymore. I want to know what those bad things are. I’m sure he doesn’t reserve the punishment for only those women he can no longer sell on their backs. Women and children go missing every day, like the woman five years ago who accused Ash of rape. Vanished off the face of the earth. Left her car behind, her apartment. While I worked for Ash, I tried to find out what happened to her, but I never did.
We need to check out Ladies and Gentlemen. Whatever Ash is doing, it’s based out of that club. He’ll go down for his prostitution business, but if he’s doing more, and I’m sure he is, then I’m going to find out. I want him to pay for all of it.
“Are you okay?” Max asks. Because of the time change, it’s nearing nine o’clock, and the pilot announced we’d begin our descent into King’s Crossing soon. Max texted Mel our new itinerary, and she said she would pick us up.
“Thinking about all we have left to do,” I say, but it’s more than that, too. I’m scared of what life will be like once I’m free. I don’t know what I want. A life with Zane? A life without him? He’ll give me the money to live wherever I want, but I’ve only ever lived in King’s Crossing. Where else would I go? Quinn wants me to go to New York, but I wouldn’t be comfortable there. I’m having trouble adjusting to the size of King’s Crossing. I couldn’t leave the hotel in DC without Max, and when I did, I clung to his arm like a scared little girl.
I’ll need therapy. I have anxiety and may need medication. Too much has happened to me, and there are times I feel like I’m trying to swallow a handful of sand. I can’t breathe, and I choke on nothing.
The plane circles over King’s Crossing and I close my eyes.
I’m tired of being homeless. Why is it so hard to find somewhere that feels secure? That feels familiar? I’m so tired of running.
Max wraps his arm around my waist and helps me off the plane. He knows I’m exhausted, but the concerned look he gives me out of the corner of his eyes tells me he knows it’s more than that.
“It will all be over soon,” he says.
Once it begins, Clayton and Ash’s house of cards will quickly topple, but that’s not what worries me.
“Then what?”
Max kisses my forehead. “I wish I knew.”