Chapter 7 - The Emergency Call
Three floors above the tarmac at Miami International Airport, inside the private Skycrest Executive Skylounge, seven board members and three FAA regional directors were seated around a polished mahogany table.
At the head of the table sat Marcus Sterling, seventy-two years old, the principal co-founder of Skycrest and David Vance’s closest lifelong friend. On the wall behind him hung a massive portrait of David Vance smiling beside the airline's original fleet.
Marcus’s secure personal phone began to vibrate against the table.
The screen read: *PRIORITY CALL - SKYCREST 412 EXECUTIVE UPLINK.*
Marcus raised an eyebrow. Flight 412 was Tyler Vance’s flight, scheduled to touch down in forty-five minutes. Tyler had arranged a massive press conference at the gate, claiming he had an "unprecedented corporate milestone" to unveil before the board.
Marcus tapped the speakerphone button. "This is Chairman Sterling. Go ahead, Flight 412."
"Uncle Marcus," a clear, steady voice echoed through the conference room speakers.
Marcus froze. His stern, weathered face softened instantly. "Elena? Sweetheart? Why are you calling on the emergency operational frequency?"
"I’m in seat 4A on Flight 412 with Mason," Elena said, her voice resonant and completely devoid of fear. "And there are several documents you need to see before Captain Tyler Vance touches down at Gate 14."
Across the table, the board members exchanged startled glances.
"Tyler told us you were resting at home in Chicago, recovering from an illness," Marcus said, his brow furrowing deeply. "He submitted paperwork claiming he was executing your father’s voting proxy because you were incapacitated."
"I am perfectly healthy, Uncle Marcus," Elena replied, her tone ringing with absolute authority. "Tyler has forged my signature on the voting transfer. Furthermore, five minutes ago, I forwarded an audit trail to your personal tablet showing that Tyler diverted $1.8 million from my son's trust fund into an offshore entity belonging to his mistress, Sarah Jenkins—who is currently sitting in first class beside him."
A collective gasp swept through the boardroom.
Marcus Sterling’s eyes narrowed into slits of cold steel. He grabbed his tablet, his weathered fingers swiping furiously across the screen. The financial records, transaction hashes, and bank routing numbers popped up in crimson red.
"There's more," Elena continued. "First Officer Martinez has patched the cockpit voice recorder data from the last fifteen minutes directly to your secure server. Tyler just used his authority as pilot-in-command to threaten federal detention against me and Mason if we speak to the board."
Marcus listened as the audio file loaded. Tyler’s arrogant, venomous voice boomed through the executive speakers: *"...I will have Port Authority police board this aircraft and take you off in handcuffs... You’ll lose custody of Mason before the sun sets..."*
Marcus Sterling slammed his open palm onto the mahogany table so hard the water glasses rattled.
"Elena," Marcus said, his voice shaking with absolute rage. "Keep your seatbelt fastened. Do not say another word to him. When those wheels touch the pavement, David Vance’s airline is going to remind Tyler exactly whose name is painted on the fuselage."
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👉 As the plane began its final descent into Miami, Tyler walked out of the cockpit with a victory grin, completely blind to the ambush waiting at the gate.
***
