"What's your play, Karen?" Marcus asked.
"We don't block the transfer remotely," I said. "We let him think he succeeded. We let him wire the funds right into the trap. And then, when he announces his brilliant merger to the press, we pull the rug out from under him so hard he won't know which way is up."
"That’s a massive risk," Marcus warned. "If the clearinghouse clears the wire before we intervene, we might not get it back.
The flight from Chicago was mercifully uneventful after the initial drama in first class. By the time Flight 412 touched down smoothly on the tarmac at Los Angeles International Airport, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the smoggy southern California sky in shades of bruised purple and gold.
As the aircraft taxied toward the private executive aviation terminal rather than the main commercial gates, I powered up my phone.
Dozens of notifications flooded the screen. Emails from regional directors, alerts from the banking clearinghouse confirming that Crossline Holdings had initiated the final wire transfer sequence, and a direct message from Jonathan Cross himself.
Karen, where are you? the message read, sent thirty minutes ago. The board briefing at the hangar starts in twenty minutes. Don't be late.
I smiled faintly, slipping the phone into my pocket.
The pilot engaged the seatbelt sign, and the chime echoed through the cabin. I gathered my tote bag, stepped out into the aisle, and walked down the jet bridge into the private terminal lounge where Marcus Vance was waiting for me with a dark tailored blazer and a fresh tablet.
"Car is outside," Marcus said, falling into step beside me as we strode through the sleek, glass-paneled hallway. "Security has locked down the perimeter of the executive hangar. Jonathan is currently backstage doing a sound check with the press corps. He thinks he’s celebrating a victory."
"Did the banking alert trigger?" I asked, adjusting my blazer.
"Right on schedule," Marcus grinned, holding up his tablet. "The twelve million hit Crossline Holdings' escrow account five minutes ago. And the moment it landed, our automated fraud injunction—backed by your majority voting shares—froze the entire account under federal racketeering provisions. Jillian Cross’s accounts are locked tight. She can't touch a single cent."
"And Jonathan?"
"He's about to walk out onto that stage and tell the entire press corps that Apex Air has successfully acquired a multi-million-dollar asset," Marcus said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "He has no idea the account he's bragging about is currently frozen by federal marshals."
We stepped out of the terminal doors into the warm southern California night air. A black SUV idled by the curb, its engine purring softly.
"Let's go watch him perform," I said, opening the door and sliding into the back seat.