3. Mia
Chapter three
Mia
I am frantically shoving clothes into my oversized handbag when my phone buzzes.
Will
have you Googled Gerrard?
Mia
Yeah, he’s with the firm he says he is, and I checked the Swiss registration. He is actually a lawyer.
Unless he’s some sort of rocket scientist and somehow got his name on the Bar Association website, I guess?
yes, but did you see the type of law the firm specializes in? it’s all business stuff, insolvency, and patents, you’d know this stuff better than me.
I frown as I re-read the message. I Google Müller Meyer again. Will is right. The firm primarily represents businesses. It looks like they mostly deal with high-wealth businesses. That makes even less sense. I don’t know how I missed that yesterday. My running assumption is Gerrard is an estate lawyer who is managing my birth parent’s affairs after they died, but I have been so focused on verifying that Gerrard is a real person that I haven’t even considered looking at what sort of firm he is from. A pit of dread lodges itself in my chest. Why would a business lawyer be involved in my parents’ estate?
Mia
Hmm, you’re right. Maybe my birth parents have some shares they forgot to bequeath in their wills? Doesn’t explain why I would be involved, though.
This morning I’m supposed to be working from home, but instead I spend my morning frantically packing and repacking the bag I’m planning to take to Bern. Will I need a raincoat? What if my flight home is delayed and I can’t get home until the morning? The only thing that stops me from texting Steph or Chloe for help is that I don’t want to have to explain why I’m going to Bern until I have more information. It’s always better to be prepared for questions, after all.
Once I have finished packing, I distract myself by tidying my flat. It’s already tidy; my friends always give it ise a hard time about my house being immaculate and them not wanting to mess anything up when they come over. I like everything to have a home. Things being out of place doesn’t work for me, so everything in my house from scissors to rubber bands to spare bread ties has a place they belong. My tidying isn't enough to distract me fully. As soon as Gerrard told me that this meeting of his is about my birth parents, an ache developed in my stomach. I don’t know whether—and what—to tell my parents. Even bringing up my birth parents to them seems wrong. My adoptive parents chose me, and I worry that they might think I’m ungrateful if I bring it up too much.
By ten to two, I’m waiting outside, trying to look like I’m doing something very important on my phone. In reality, I’m inspecting every single vehicle that looks like it might stop. I’m not even sure what I’m waiting for, but it becomes immediately obvious when a sleek, modern black car pulls up right outside my gate and a tall man in a suit gets out of the car.
“Ms. Davis?” the suited man says, reaching for my tote.
He holds open the back door of the sedan for me, gesturing for me to sit. I slide my handbag snugly up against my thigh on the seat next to me.
“London City Airport, Ms. Davis. I’ll have you there in no time. Help yourself to refreshments, just in the center there, and let me know if you’d prefer I raise the divider.” He glances back at me in the rearview mirror.
I grab a cold bottle of water from the tiny refrigerator in an attempt to avoid a complete panic. I much prefer to have my life planned and organized—but by me . An unplanned flight to another country with very little understanding of why I’m even involved? It's so far out of my comfort zone it isn’t funny.
Mia
I’m in the car. The driver is wearing a suit. There are snacks
Will
snacks?
I snap a clandestinephoto of the snack fridge, and send it off to Will.
The driver approaches a side of the runway I haven’t been to before, opposite the regular terminals. Seconds after the car stops, a blonde woman in a suit opens my door.
“Welcome, Ms. Davis. I'm Kate. Please, follow me,” Kate says, shutting the door behind me and taking a couple of long strides until she’s in front of me. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your bag.”
I try very hard not to stare as I look around, wide eyed. The plane in front of me is much smaller than a commercial plane. I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it. The aircraft’s stairs are lowered, just a short step off the ground. On my other side stands a huge shed—the aircraft hangar. The doors are wide open and inside are two other small aircraft. A few people wearing black overalls are cleaning the underside of one of the planes.
I wonder how many others will be on the plane. I can’t see anyone else here waiting. I must be early.
My chaperone stops at the stairs and motions me up with a wave. I tuck my water bottle under one arm and grasp the handrail tight with the other.
“Welcome aboard. I’ll be assisting you on your flight today,” Kate says from behind me.
Kate is immaculately made up, so beautiful she could have easily been a model. Her blonde hair is scraped back into an elaborate bun, the type of bun I often try—and fail—to do on a Monday morning when I’m full of ambition about the week ahead.
“Ms. Davis, you’re free to sit anywhere, but this one—” She motions to the first seat, next to the window. “—is the one I’d recommend. It has a great view of the cockpit, and I’ll be close by to get you anything you need.”
I can’t imagine what I could possibly need in the next hour and a half, but it’s nice to know she’s there if I need her.
“Thanks so much, Kate. I appreciate your help.” I smile at her. “Am I the only passenger?”
Kate nods. “Yup, you’ve got the whole plane all to yourself! The benefits of a private jet, huh?” She winks. Kate helps me set up the tray table, which is tucked down the side of the seat, and shows me where I can stash my bag and hang my jacket. Rather than shoving it under the seat in front of me or into an overhead bin, just inside the main door to the aircraft is a proper wardrobe, with hangers and all. Everything is so fancy, I try to absorb it all. It’s very unlikely I will ever fly by private jet again and I know Will will want a rundown.
Kate heads to her seat towards the back of the plane. I’ve never been a nervous flier, but watching me as we took off would give anyone that impression. I brought some reading for work with me, but by the time we are up in the air and the plane has levelled out, I haven’t finished the first page. Instead, I double check I have everything I need in my bag. I check, then double check my makeup before simply sighing, and looking out the window.
“Is this your first time on a jet, Ms. Davis?” Kate approaches, perching on the seat on the other side of the aisle.
“Call me Mia, please. It makes me sound like you’re talking to my mum.” I laugh in an attempt to ease my tension. It doesn’t work. “Yes, my first and probably only time on a private jet! It’s very…” I look around, wrinkling my nose. “Beige? Is that rude?”
Waving her hand in front of her face as if to confirm she isn’t offended, Kate laughs too. “Well, since it’s your first time, how about a proper tour? It’s safe for us to get up now.”
The plane has everything I—or ten of me—could want on this short flight. “The bathroom’s in here—behind that door there's a shower,” Kate explains, pointing to a frosted glass door. “The owner often takes this on longer-haul flights, so he needs it.” As Kate walks me around, opening cupboards and doors hiding everything from an ironing board to expensive spirits, I start to relax.
I end up sitting on a chair which can turn in place, chatting with Kate who is sitting on the other side of the aisle. Before I know it, the pilot announces we will be landing shortly. My nerves instantly flood back. I’m not sure whether I’m dreading finding out what Gerrard has to tell me, or if I just want to rip off the band-aid.