Chapter 37

 

Gracie paced the international departure lounge, scanning the corridors which teemed with people, watching for the one head of curly hair among the thousands with smooth dark hair. She glanced toward Pen who sat with their carryon bags. Boarding had already been called for first class and business class passengers, but they had agreed—they would wait until the moment before the doors closed if Amber had not yet arrived.

There had been a series of texts: Leaving Clint’s office.

The next one: Got cash. Found a cab.

The next one came what felt like an interminable time later: At airport. Check-in line long!

So, Amber was here somewhere. It didn’t necessarily mean she would make the flight. Gracie watched the steady queue of coach passengers thread their way past the gate agent. The crowd was thinning at an alarming rate. She imagined them aboard the aircraft, inching their way toward their seats, stowing their too-many items in too-few bins, flight attendants edging along the crowded aisles to assist. For the first time in her life, Gracie willed the process to take longer.

At last she spotted Amber’s familiar bouncy gait. Her curly hair, pulled into a fluffy knot at the top of her head, made a perfect beacon. Gracie sent a thumbs-up toward Pen before dashing out into the crowd.

The last of the passengers had disappeared into the long Jetway.

She ran to Amber, grabbed her hand and gave a tug, wanting to give the same lecture she used on her kids to hurry up. No purpose to that—Amber was already nearly in tears.

“Come on, sweetie. We’ll make it.”

Pen was speaking to the agent at the boarding pass scanner when the other two dashed into the glassed-in area.

“Ah, yes,” they heard her say, “here they are now.”

“The aircraft door closes in one minute,” said the agent. “Do not dally in the Jetway.”

As if they needed to be told. They rushed in, thankful to see the first-class cabin had settled early and they were easily able to take their seats as the safety briefing video began. Pen’s seat was next to Amber’s, with Gracie across the aisle. The way the semi-private pods were arranged, conversation wasn’t easy. When the little video screens shut down and she felt the plane lift off, Pen leaned forward to see around the divider.

“So—what happened?”

Amber paused, deliberating how much to say. Catching the wrong bus, breaking into Clint’s office, the mad scramble to the airport and almost missing the flight. Most likely Pen only wanted to know about the mission to find important papers.

“The blueprints and building plans were there, but nothing personal at all. Not even a coffee cup. Nothing that would say ‘Clint Holbrook worked here’. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Pen admitted it was. “The question is, who cleared it? Clint was only leaving for a few days to go fishing, so why would he take away absolutely everything?”

“I wondered if Rudy Tong or someone in his company did it. I don’t know … that building, that company … the whole place has a very sterile feeling. But to send somebody in and clear a guy’s office within a day after he dies—that’s cold.”

Pen nodded. She remembered the remark about Chinese mobsters and whether Clint had gotten himself—purposely or inadvertently—in with them. And what if the office had actually been cleared before Clint’s death? Did someone at Tong Chen Enterprises know their American contractor wouldn’t be coming back?

A flight attendant paused beside Pen’s seat. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick, may I bring you something to drink?”

Pen requested tea, something which always calmed her nerves. Something she needed after the tense morning.

Beside her, Amber sat upright. “What if Clint had left a bunch of his private stuff there, like maybe even his computer? And what if the Chinese took it all away. They’ve probably already hacked it.”

Pen nodded.

“So, it means they’ll know and have access to his money. If we don’t find it and steal Mary’s share away, we don’t even have to worry what the American court would do. The money’s going to be gone. My god, I’ll bet it was that slimy lawyer of his. I’ll bet he’s working with those guys at Tong Chen.”

That got Pen’s attention. “You’re saying … this whole thing could have been planned far in advance? Give an American contractor the job, bring him over, gain access to his money, kill him?”

“I know. It does sound pretty far-fetched.”

It did, and yet it didn’t.

Amber twitched in her seat. “But I won’t have secure internet access to find out what’s going on for another fifteen hours.”