My stepmother thought I was br0ke, so she treated me like her personal baggage handler and laughed as she sent me to Economy. Then the aircraft stopped taxiing, and the captain came looking for me.

He didn’t even look at her.

“Ms. Bennett,” he said clearly, “Operations has confirmed your authority as controlling owner representative of Silverline Airways. We require your direction regarding a corporate fraud matter and a safety violation connected to this flight.”

Mason’s champagne glass slipped from his hand.

It shattered against the floor.

For one perfect second, no one breathed.

Then Patricia laughed.

It was thin.

Forced.

Almost desperate.

“Owner representative? Her?”

She pointed toward me.

“Captain, there has obviously been some mistake. Nora can barely afford rent.”

I stepped into the aisle.

“There’s no mistake.”

The captain handed me the tablet.

The screen showed every charge Patricia had placed on the executive account.

Four first-class tickets.

Luxury baggage exemptions.

Special handling fees.

Private transfers.

A chalet catering deposit.

Mason’s so-called “corporate leadership retreat.”

Total:

**$186,420.**

The security officer spoke next.

“One checked suitcase also contains undeclared high-capacity lithium battery packs and commercial recording equipment. It was tagged under Ms. Bennett’s name after being transferred at the counter.”

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