Chapter 3
I'd met Victor Hayes three times.
The first time was at the airline's holiday celebration.
He gave me a model airplane and told me I should become a pilot.
The second time was at my father's office.
He shook my hand and called me a future leader.
The third time was at Grandpa's funeral.
Victor hugged Dad and promised our family would never be alone.
Now his name appeared on a message telling the crew to remove me from my seat.
I stared at my father.
"Dad, isn't Victor your friend?"
Dad didn't answer immediately.
His jaw tightened.
"He's the company's chief operating officer."
Mr. Whitmore nodded.
"He's also responsible for certain operational decisions."
I felt confused.
"But why would he want me moved?"
Dad looked at me.
"I don't know yet."
Then he turned toward the executive.
"Preserve the message and its audit records."
Mr. Whitmore nodded.
"Already requested."
Dad continued.
"And don't let anyone alter the reservation history."
"Understood."
I looked toward the galley.
Claire was speaking quietly with one of the managers.
Her face looked frightened.
I wondered whether she knew Victor.
Whether she'd received the message.
Whether she'd thought obeying it was more important than checking my ticket.
Dad sat beside me again.
"Malik, I need you to listen."
I nodded.
"You're not responsible for any of this."
I looked down.
"I know."
But I didn't really feel it.
Part of me kept wondering whether I'd done something wrong.
Maybe I'd boarded too early.
Maybe I should have waited for Dad.
Maybe I should have asked someone else before sitting down.
Dad seemed to read my thoughts.
"You followed every instruction I gave you."
I swallowed.
"Yes, sir."
"You showed your boarding pass."
"Yes."
"You spoke respectfully."
I nodded.
"Then you did exactly what you were supposed to do."
My eyes filled.
He squeezed my hand.
"Don't let someone else's bad decision turn into shame you carry."
I leaned against him.
For a moment, I wished I were younger.
Young enough for Dad to pick me up and carry me away.
But I was eleven.
I wanted to be brave.
And I wanted to understand what was happening.
"Are we still going to New York?"
Dad looked toward the clock.
Then toward Mr. Whitmore.
"We need to make a decision."
The executive nodded.
"The aircraft can depart once the crew arrangements are resolved."
Dad turned toward me.
"Malik, your competition matters. But your safety matters more."
I thought about my project waiting in the cargo hold.
The small emergency transmitter I'd spent months building.
The presentation I'd practiced with Dad every night.
Grandpa's photograph tucked inside my backpack.
I took a breath.
"I want to go."
Dad smiled gently.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"I don't want them to ruin this too."
His eyes filled.
"Then we'll make sure you get there."
Mr. Whitmore arranged for another senior attendant to replace Claire for the flight.
She was escorted away from the cabin while the incident was reviewed.
Dad didn't shout.
He didn't threaten her.
He simply asked for the facts to be preserved.
Before leaving, Claire looked toward me.
For a moment, our eyes met.
She opened her mouth.
Then looked away.
I didn't know what she wanted to say.
Maybe another apology.
Maybe an explanation.
But I wasn't ready to hear it.
Dad accompanied me to the front of the aircraft.
He couldn't travel on the same flight because of a board meeting scheduled that afternoon.
But he arranged for an authorized airline staff member to supervise the flight and meet me in New York.
He also called my aunt Denise.
She was already waiting at the destination airport.
Dad checked everything twice.
My boarding pass.
My bag.
My emergency contact information.
Then he crouched in front of me.
"Champ, I need you to remember something."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Being brave doesn't mean pretending you're not hurt."
My throat tightened.
He continued.
"It means telling the truth even when your voice shakes."
I nodded.
Then he hugged me.
I held on longer than usual.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, son."
When he stepped away, I sat back in seat 2A.
The replacement attendant approached.
Her name was Olivia.
She smiled warmly.
"Good morning, Malik."
I looked up.
"Good morning."
"I've confirmed your reservation. You're exactly where you're supposed to be."
My chest loosened.
"Thank you."
She placed my backpack carefully in the overhead compartment after asking permission.
Then she handed me a bottle of water.
"Would you like anything else?"
I shook my head.
"No, thank you."
She smiled.
"Enjoy your flight."
For the first time that morning, I felt like an ordinary passenger.
Not a problem.
Not an embarrassment.
Just a boy going to a competition.
The airplane pushed back from the gate.
As we taxied toward the runway, I looked out the window.
Dad was somewhere inside the terminal.
Probably already making phone calls.
Probably trying to understand why Victor had sent that message.
I wanted to believe everything would be okay.
But something about the message frightened me.
DO NOT CONTACT THE CHAIRMAN.
Someone had tried to keep Dad from finding out.
Why?
I fastened my seat belt.
Then I opened my backpack and removed Grandpa's photograph.
He was standing beside me at a science fair.
His arm was around my shoulders.
We were both smiling.
I touched the picture.
"Wish you were here, Grandpa."
My voice was barely a whisper.
Then my phone buzzed.
I looked down.
A message from Dad.
Proud of you, champ. Focus on your competition. I'll handle the rest.
I smiled.
Then another message arrived.
From a number I didn't recognize.
I opened it.
There was no greeting.
No name.
Only a sentence.
YOUR FATHER CAN'T PROTECT YOU EVERYWHERE.
My stomach turned.
I stared at the screen.
Then the airplane began accelerating down the runway.
I looked toward the front of the cabin.
Olivia was seated in the jump seat.
The wheels lifted off the ground.
We were in the air.
And someone had just threatened me.
I didn't know who sent the message.
I didn't know how they got my number.
But I knew one thing.
May you like
Whatever was happening wasn't finished.
And my father was about to discover that protecting me would mean confronting someone he'd trusted for years.
