Chapter 2 - EVERYONE GETS OFF
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The private terminal was quiet enough that I could hear the auxiliary power unit humming behind the Gulfstream.
Aaron remained halfway down the stairs.
His hand gripped the railing.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“Alyssa.”
“You wanted me off the aircraft. I’m off.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It sounded remarkably clear.”
Evelyn appeared behind him.
“This is childish.”
I almost laughed.
Evelyn Prescott had spent twenty-three years perfecting a tone that could make adults feel like disobedient children. Until that morning, I had usually allowed it to work.
Not anymore.
Captain Martinez touched her headset.
“Ground control, Prescott Seven is standing down.”
Aaron spun toward her.
“Do not cancel this flight.”
Elena didn’t react.
“Sir, I take operational instruction from the registered owner or designated operator.”
“I am the CEO of Prescott Aerospace.”
“And this aircraft isn’t owned by Prescott Aerospace.”
That sentence landed harder than shouting ever could.
Two members of airport security approached.
Aaron stared at them.
“You cannot be serious.”
The senior officer stopped beside the stairs.
“Sir, we’ve been instructed to clear the aircraft.”
Aaron looked at me.
“You called security on your own husband?”
“No. The crew follows standard procedure when unauthorized passengers refuse to leave.”
“I’m unauthorized?”
“For this flight? Yes.”
His face reddened.
Jasmine appeared behind Evelyn, carrying her handbag.
“Mr. Prescott, maybe we should just—”
Aaron whipped around.
“Stay where you are.”
She froze.
I noticed several executives exchanging uncomfortable looks.
They had come expecting a forty-minute flight to Chicago followed by a merger meeting.
Instead, they were discovering their CEO did not own the aircraft he had used as a symbol of personal wealth for years.
Our general counsel, David Heller, was the first one to act sensibly.
He collected his briefcase.
“Everyone should probably disembark.”
Aaron stared at him.
“You’re taking her side?”
“I’m taking the side of property law.”
Even I almost smiled.
One by one, the executives came down the stairs.
None looked at me directly.
Jasmine came next.
She still held the little container of orange slices.
When she reached the bottom, she stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at the fruit.
“For which part?”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know you were sitting in my seat while touching my husband?”
Her lips parted.
Aaron shouted from above us.
“Enough!”
I looked up.
His anger had replaced embarrassment.
That worried me less than it once would have.
Anger was Aaron’s favorite refuge whenever facts stopped obeying him.
He came down the stairs quickly.
“You’re going to embarrass me in front of the Meridian people because Jasmine sat in a chair?”
“No.”
I moved closer so only those nearest us could hear.
“I’m canceling the flight because my husband told me to remember my place while his secretary fed him fruit in front of our executives.”
“It was an orange.”
“It could have been a grape.”
His jaw flexed.
“That isn’t the point.”
“Then what is?”
“You’ve been looking for a reason to humiliate me.”
That genuinely surprised me.
“For six years, Aaron, I’ve been doing the opposite.”
His expression shifted.
Just slightly.
He knew exactly what I meant.
The jet.
The townhouse.
The first emergency loan.
The voting shares.
The quiet capital infusions.
All the things we never discussed publicly because protecting Aaron’s image had once seemed like protecting our marriage.
Evelyn reached the tarmac.
“You should apologize and get everyone back aboard.”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
“For making a spectacle of this family.”
“The spectacle was already happening. I simply stopped financing it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You always were dramatic.”
“No, Evelyn. I was convenient.”
A black sedan pulled alongside the terminal.
My driver, Marcus, stepped out.
I hadn’t called him.
He had apparently seen the canceled flight notification in my travel system.
He opened the rear door.
I started toward the car.
Aaron followed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“We have a meeting.”
“You have a meeting.”
He grabbed my wrist.
Every conversation stopped.
I looked down at his hand.
Then at him.
“Let go.”
He released me immediately.
Not because he suddenly respected me.
Because he noticed security watching.
“You can’t pull this today,” he whispered.
“Meridian expects us at eleven.”
“You should book commercial.”
“We’ll miss the opening session.”
“Then charter something.”
His face changed.
That answer bothered him more than the others.
I understood why a second later.
“You froze the corporate charter account, didn’t you?”
I stared at him.
“I didn’t even know Prescott Aerospace had a charter account.”
David Heller looked up sharply.
Aaron turned toward him.
David’s expression became unreadable.
Something passed between them.
Something I was not supposed to notice.
That was the first moment I realized the seat might not be the biggest problem.
“Interesting,” I said.
Aaron’s voice dropped.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Start digging.”
Evelyn interrupted.
“Honestly, Aaron, why are you standing here negotiating with her?”
Negotiating.
After eight years of marriage.
That single word told me more than she intended.
I got into the car.
Aaron leaned toward the open door.
“You need to think carefully about what you’re doing.”
“I am.”
“You walk away from me, you walk away from Prescott.”
I looked at the terminal behind him.
At the company logo painted on a vehicle.
At his executives.
At his mother.
At Jasmine standing with her ridiculous oranges.
Then I looked back at my husband.
“You still don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I was Prescott before you could afford to keep it.”
His face went still.
Marcus closed the door.
We drove away.
I waited until the aircraft disappeared behind the hangar before opening the secure finance application on my phone.
Prescott Aerospace.
Liquidity dashboard.
I had not opened it in almost six months.
Aaron handled daily operations.
I controlled the family trust and several holding companies.
That arrangement had been deliberate.
He wanted independence.
I wanted peace.
The numbers loaded.
For several seconds, they made no sense.
The company should have had approximately $118 million in accessible liquidity.
The screen showed twenty-nine.
I refreshed.
Same number.
My pulse slowed instead of quickening.
That always happened when I became truly afraid.
I opened transaction history.
Transfers.
Eight million.
Twelve million.
Seven million.
Fourteen.
Different destinations.
Same approving executive.
Aaron Prescott.
I clicked one.
Recipient:
CROWN RIDGE STRATEGIC CONSULTING LLC.
I didn’t recognize it.
Another transfer had gone to Crown Ridge.
And another.
Twenty-six million dollars in six months.
I called David Heller.
He answered on the first ring.
“Alyssa.”
“What is Crown Ridge?”
Silence.
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“I think we should speak in person.”
“David.”
“I’ve been trying to get Aaron to disclose several related-party transactions to the board.”
My stomach tightened.
“Related to whom?”
“I don’t want to say over the phone.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
His next words came slowly.
“It’s not.”
I looked through the window as Manhattan appeared in the distance.
“Come to the townhouse.”
“I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
He hesitated.
“Alyssa?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever Aaron tells you between now and then, don’t sign anything.”
The call ended.
I stared at the dashboard again.
Then another detail caught my attention.
The registered address for Crown Ridge.
I knew that building.
I had bought an apartment there years ago.
Not for myself.
For Evelyn.
I copied the address and searched the New York corporate registry.
Crown Ridge Strategic Consulting LLC.
Registered agent:
Jasmine Cole.
I read the name twice.
My phone rang.
Aaron.
I let it ring.
Again.
Again.
Then a text arrived.
YOU’RE OVERREACTING.
A second followed.
DO NOT TALK TO DAVID.
Then a third.
COME TO THE OFFICE. NOW.
I turned my phone facedown.
Marcus watched me through the mirror.
“Everything all right, Mrs. Prescott?”
For the first time that morning, I considered the possibility that my husband’s affair—if that was what it was—might actually be the least expensive thing he had done to me.
“No,” I said.
“Take me to Halcyon’s office instead.”
He changed lanes.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into a company headquarters Aaron had never visited.
Halcyon Aviation Holdings occupied three quiet floors in a glass building near Bryant Park.
No Prescott logos.
No family portraits.
No newspaper profiles.
Just the company my father had built and left to me.
My executive assistant, Rachel Kim, rose when I entered.
Her expression sharpened immediately.
“You weren’t supposed to be back until tonight.”
“Plans changed.”
“What happened?”
“I need the complete relationship map between Halcyon and Prescott Aerospace.”
“How far back?”
“Eight years.”
She studied me.
“That’s going to be ugly.”
“I think it already is.”
Rachel nodded.
“And freeze any discretionary authorization Aaron Prescott has through Halcyon subsidiaries.”
She paused.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Effective immediately?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers moved across the keyboard.
Then she stopped.
“Alyssa.”
“What?”
“Aaron tried to access the Halcyon executive portal seventeen minutes ago.”
My heart skipped.
“From where?”
“Airport network.”
“What did he try to open?”
Rachel clicked.
Her face changed.
“The Prescott collateral agreement.”
I knew that document.
It was the contract that had saved Aaron’s company six years earlier.
More importantly, it gave Halcyon extraordinary rights if Prescott Aerospace violated specific financial covenants.
“What section?”
Rachel enlarged the access log.
“Default provisions.”
The office became very quiet.
My husband hadn’t been surprised that I owned the plane.
He had been surprised I was finally acting like I owned everything else.
And suddenly I understood his warning.
Don’t start digging.
I looked at Rachel.
“Call our outside counsel.”
She reached for the phone.
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Get me the original collateral agreement.”
She nodded.
I walked toward my office.
For eight years, I had believed my marriage survived because I knew when to compromise.
May you like
By noon, I would discover it had survived because everyone around me believed I would never read the fine print.
They were wrong.
