Chapter 2
Andre asked me to step into the front galley.
I left my carry-on in the overhead bin and kept my phone in my hand. The recording had stopped when he arrived. I saved it before following him.
Evelyn called after us.
“This is absurd. I paid for my ticket.”
“So did I,” I said.
Andre drew the galley curtain enough to give us privacy while keeping the cabin in sight.
“Did you make this reservation yourself?” he asked.
“My assistant booked it through the charter company. Why?”
“Your seat was reserved under your name. The payment came through a corporate account.”
“That’s normal. My company pays for business travel.”
Andre glanced at the tablet.
“The account name is Bennett Foundation.”
I frowned.
“My company is Bennett Analytics. I’ve never billed travel to the foundation.”
“Do you have any connection to it?”
“My father started a charitable fund years ago. It was small, and it closed after he died.”
At least, I thought it had.
Dad had been gone for eleven months. I was traveling to San Francisco for a meeting about a partnership he had tried to build before his illness. The flight was supposed to be the easy part of a hard week.
Andre lowered his voice.
“The booking notes identify you as a guest requiring a private meeting on arrival. Ms. Whitmore is listed as an associated contact.”
“Associated how?”
“The file doesn’t say. I need our operations team to confirm who submitted the instructions.”
I looked past the curtain. Evelyn sat rigidly in 2A, speaking urgently into her phone. She saw me watching and turned toward the window.
“Is she connected to the foundation?” I asked.
“I can’t tell from this screen.”
“Then I’m going to call my assistant.”
I reached Dana on the second ring.
“Did you charge this flight to Bennett Foundation?”
“No,” she said immediately. “I used the company card and sent you the receipt.”
“Do you have it?”
“Of course.”
Her voice changed when I told her about the other account.
“Marcus, I got a call yesterday from someone saying she was coordinating your arrival. She knew your flight and hotel. I told her I couldn’t discuss your schedule.”
“Name?”
“She said Evelyn Whitmore.”
I stared through the curtain.
“Send the booking receipt to me and to the charter company,” I said. “And call our bank to confirm where the payment went.”
Dana promised she would.
Andre received a message while I was speaking. He read it, and the line between his eyes deepened.
“Operations confirms your assistant’s payment,” he said. “The foundation note was added afterward. We’re checking who had access.”
“Can we still leave?”
“Yes, once the passenger in 2A moves and we resolve the note.”
He went back into the cabin. I followed.
Evelyn held her phone tightly.
“My attorney will hear about this,” she said.
Andre kept his voice even.
“You may speak to anyone you choose. Your assigned seat is 6C.”
She stood at last. As she passed me, she leaned close.
“You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
I smelled her perfume, sharp and familiar. Dad’s study had smelled like it once, after a meeting he told me was about a grant.
“Then tell me,” I said.
She kept walking.
Tasha cleaned the tray and brought a fresh coffee. She apologized for dismissing my boarding pass. I thanked her, but I told her I would report what had happened.
“I understand,” she said.
I sat in 2A. The seat felt less like a victory than a place to think.
The plane departed twenty minutes late. I kept the window shade open and tried to piece together what I knew.
Dad had founded a small scholarship program in my grandmother’s name. I had helped him select students when I was in college. After he became ill, he said the fund had been folded into larger charities. He had never mentioned Evelyn Whitmore.
An hour into the flight, Dana sent the original receipt. The company had paid in full. A second email arrived from her soon after.
I checked the Bennett Foundation registration, she wrote. It is active. The listed director is Evelyn Whitmore.
I read it twice.
My father’s name was still on the foundation’s website. His photograph appeared beside a message about helping young people study technology. I recognized the picture. I had taken it in our kitchen.
Under the director listing was a line that made my hands go cold.
Beneficiary representative: Marcus Bennett.
I had never agreed to represent the foundation.
I called Dana through the plane’s approved connection.
“Find every document that uses my name,” I said. “Start with anything signed after Dad got sick.”
A seat belt chime sounded. Andre came to my seat and crouched beside it.
“Operations found who added the note,” he said.
“Evelyn?”
“Someone used credentials belonging to a travel coordinator employed by her office. They attached an arrival instruction asking ground staff to take you directly to a private meeting.”
“With whom?”
May you like
Andre looked toward the rear of the cabin.
“The file names Evelyn Whitmore.”
