Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO BURIED THEM
I called Martin Vale from the conference room.
He answered on the second ring.
“Malcolm.”
He sounded relaxed.
Too relaxed.
“I assume you’ve heard about Flight 418.”
“A little misunderstanding with Parker, from what I’m hearing.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“A captain-passenger conflict.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She heard it too.
“How much do you know?”
“Enough.”
“Do you know about the seven complaints?”
Silence.
Then Martin sighed.
“Evelyn showed you those?”
“She did.”
“That file requires context.”
“Good. Give me some.”
Another pause.
“Malcolm, operational complaints happen constantly. Crews argue. Passengers exaggerate. People file reports because they don’t like being corrected.”
“Seven people?”
“Over several years.”
“All involving Parker.”
“He’s flown thousands of legs.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Martin’s voice hardened.
“Are we really doing this over the phone?”
“No. We’re doing it in person.”
“I’m in Dallas.”
“Then join by video.”
“I have a management meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
He went quiet.
I didn’t often speak to executives that way.
But this wasn’t a disagreement about quarterly numbers.
“Malcolm,” he said, “you need to be careful here.”
The warning caught my attention.
“Careful about what?”
“You were personally involved in the incident. Anything you do now can look retaliatory.”
“That’s why Evelyn is handling the legal side.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No, Martin. Right now I’m trying to figure out who you were protecting.”
He hung up.
Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“That went well.”
Denise almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
And went pale.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward us.
A message from an unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE WALKED OFF THE PLANE WHEN HE TOLD YOU TO.
Evelyn took the phone.
“Don’t respond.”
Denise whispered, “Who would send that?”
“We’ll find out.”
A second message arrived.
YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER AT ARIZONA STATE, RIGHT?
Denise stood so quickly her chair hit the wall.
“No.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“Call your daughter.”
Her hands were shaking.
“I’m calling her.”
The first call went unanswered.
So did the second.
Denise’s breathing changed.
“She always answers me.”
“Try again.”
Third call.
Nothing.
Evelyn opened the door.
“Get airport security in here.”
I called my security director at Reed Capital.
“Malcolm?”
“I need a welfare check in Tempe, Arizona. Immediately.”
I gave him Denise’s daughter’s name and address.
Denise stared at me.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
Three minutes felt like thirty.
Finally, Denise’s phone rang.
She grabbed it.
“Emma?”
A girl’s confused voice came through.
“Mom? Why are you calling me like a crazy person? I was in the shower.”
Denise almost collapsed into the chair.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Lock your door.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
She hung up after making her daughter promise to stay inside.
Evelyn forwarded screenshots of the threats to corporate security.
“This changes things,” she said.
I nodded.
“Who knew Denise was in that room?”
“Crew.”
“Ground staff.”
“Operations.”
“Parker.”
Then I remembered something.
Martin had known I was looking at the complaints before I ever told him which crew member was speaking to us.
I looked at Evelyn.
“Pull the access history on Denise’s personnel file.”
She understood instantly.
Ten minutes later, we had it.
Someone had accessed Denise Carter’s full employee profile six minutes after Parker was removed from Flight 418.
Home address.
Emergency contacts.
Dependent information.
Her daughter’s name.
The user account belonged to Flight Operations.
But it wasn’t Parker’s.
It was an executive account.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
“Martin Vale.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman spoke before I could say anything.
“Mr. Reed?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Tessa Morgan.”
Denise’s head snapped toward me.
Tessa’s voice trembled.
“I heard what happened on Flight 418.”
I put the call on speaker.
“Tessa, you’re with Denise Carter and Evelyn Shaw.”
Silence.
Then Tessa whispered:
“Denise?”
Denise covered her mouth.
“I’m here.”
Tessa started crying.
Denise did too.
“I’m sorry,” Denise said. “I should’ve stood up for you.”
Tessa breathed shakily.
“It’s okay.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Another pause.
Then Tessa said something none of us expected.
“Mr. Reed, there aren’t seven complaints.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“What do you mean?”
May you like
“There were at least twelve.”
“And I can prove it.”
