Chapter 3 - The Airport InterrogationThe video feed flickered to life, showing a dimly lit airport lounge restroom. Daniel’s hair was disheveled, his expensive tie was ripped off, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Behind him, the muffled sounds of frantic whispering echoed off the tile walls.
"Rachel! Where did you go? Where are you?" Daniel hissed into the camera, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and sheer terror. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Father is furious! Lauren is crying! The kids are terrified because you pulled a stunt like this in the middle of a public terminal!"
I leaned back in Daniel’s leather executive chair, taking a slow sip of ice water from the glass on his desk.
"Furious?" I echoed, letting out a light, mocking laugh. "Daniel, sweetheart, you must be confused. You’re the one standing in an airport bathroom in Cabo San Lucas—or wait, did you even make it past security before your flight got flagged?"
Daniel froze. His jaw dropped. "How... how do you know where we are?"
"Oh, Daniel, please. Give me some credit," I said, leaning forward so my face filled his screen. "Did you really think you could sneak past TSA while your hospital department was actively being audited for missing pharmaceutical contracts? Did you honestly believe your father’s shell company accounts were untraceable?"
The color drained from Daniel’s face for the second time that day, but this time it was accompanied by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror.
"You... you checked the accounts?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the bathroom exhaust fan.
"I checked everything," I replied smoothly. "And let me tell you, darling, your father’s bookkeeping is atrocious. Embezzlement and corporate kickbacks carry federal penalties nowadays, don't they? I wonder how the medical board at Chicago General is going to react when they find out their star surgeon has been funneling drug trial kickbacks through a family-owned shell corporation."
"Rachel, stop! Stop talking like that!" Daniel lunged toward the camera, as if he could physically reach through the screen and choke me. "We can fix this! Let's talk like adults. Come back to Chicago—well, I mean, let me come home. We can go to counseling. We can work it out for the kids!"
"The kids?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean Leo and Maya? The children who watched you kiss another woman and acted like it was a Tuesday afternoon routine? The children your family taught to lie to their own mother?"
The door of the airport restroom swung open behind Daniel. A familiar, gravelly voice cut through the air.
"Daniel! Get off that phone right now! Chloe’s crying, and the gate agent is saying our return tickets have been flagged!"
It was Richard—my esteemed father-in-law. The patriarch.
Daniel tried to block the camera, but I had already seen him. I could see Richard standing in the reflection of the mirror, his face contorted in absolute fury.
"Put your father on the phone, Daniel," I said softly, but with an authority that commanded absolute obedience. "Go on. Hand him the phone. I want to ask him how much a father charges to sell his daughter-in-law out to a pharmaceutical rep."
"Rachel, don't—"
"Hand him the phone, Daniel, or the next call I make won't be to your department head. It will be to the FBI’s financial crimes division."
Daniel swallowed hard, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped the phone. Slowly, reluctantly, he extended his arm and handed the device to his father.
Richard’s scowling face filled the screen. "Listen here, you ungrateful, vindictive little—"
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"Save the performance, Richard," I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave into absolute ice. "Your vacation is canceled. Your son’s career is over. And if you ever want to see your precious grandchildren grow up outside of a federal penitentiary, you’re all going to get on the very next return flight back to Chicago. And when you land, you are going to pack every single one of your belongings out of my house."
I didn't wait for his reply. I hung up.
