The guard sighed, stepping toward me. “Alright, son. You and your mother need to step off the aircraft. Let’s go.”
He reached out. His thick, heavy hand grabbed my upper arm.
It wasn’t a gentle touch. It was the grip of someone forcing a criminal out of a building.
“Do not touch him.” Diane’s voice wasn’t loud, but it possessed a lethal frequency. “If you do not remove your hand from him in three seconds, I will personally see to it that you never work in a security capacity again.”
The guard hesitated, his grip loosening just a fraction.
Victoria laughed. A harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, please! Who do you think you are? You’re nothing! My husband is Richard Whitmore! He owns Whitmore Group! He can buy and sell everyone in this pathetic cabin! Now get this trash off the plane!”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the airplane engines seemed to stop.
I looked at the guard’s hand on my arm. I looked at Victoria’s sneering, hateful face. I heard my grandmother’s voice in the back of my mind.
The right moment matters more than the right words, Malik. Wait for the moment.
The moment had arrived.
I gently pulled my arm out of the guard’s grip. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.
I slowly unzipped the front pocket of my cheap backpack. I reached inside and pulled out the iPad Pro Diane had given me three weeks ago. The heavy, armored case felt solid in my trembling hands.
“What are you doing?” Victoria sneered, looking down her nose at me. “Are you going to play a video game, little boy?”
I didn’t answer her. I opened the tablet. I typed in my password.
I opened the top folder labeled: ‘LEGAL – CURRENT’.
I clicked on the master trust document.
I looked up at Victoria Whitmore. Her eyes were full of absolute, unfiltered contempt.
“Your husband is Richard Whitmore,” I said. My 10-year-old voice was quiet, but in that silent cabin, it echoed like a gunshot.
“Yes,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “And?”
“And his company is Whitmore Group,” I continued, my voice steadying.
“Are you slow? Yes! Now get off my plane!”
I took a deep breath.
“Whitmore Group doesn’t belong to your husband,” I said calmly. “It’s a subsidiary. It’s owned by a parent conglomerate called Carter Holdings.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, groaning loudly. “I know my husband’s corporate structure, you little brat. What is your point?”
I turned the glowing screen of the tablet around. I held it up, right in front of her face.