The second hand reached twelve.
A calm voice came through my phone’s speaker.
“The Bridgewell freeze is active.
All identified accounts are locked pending review.”
Grant stared at the phone as if it had fired a bullet through the cabin.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then he grabbed his own phone from the table and began tapping so quickly that his thumb slipped across the screen.
“Grant?” Madison whispered.
He ignored her.
He tried one banking application, then another.
His jaw tightened.
He entered a password twice.
The second attempt failed.
He switched to a contact list and called someone whose name I could not see.
The call disconnected before it rang.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
I closed the final page in the folder.
“What you should have expected the moment you used a dead man’s authorization code.”
His eyes snapped toward Captain Warren.
“Close the door.
We’re leaving.”
Captain Warren remained beside the entrance.
“The original flight plan has been canceled, sir.”
“I am the chief executive officer of Sterling Meridian.”
“You were suspended,” I said.
Grant turned on me.
“A board resolution can be challenged.”
“Then challenge it from the ground.”
Madison looked from him to me, breathing too quickly.
Champagne dripped from her fingers onto the cream carpet.
“You told me the plane belonged to you,” she said.
Grant did not even look at her.
“This is a family dispute.
Stay out of it.”
Her expression shifted.
The glossy confidence disappeared first.
Then came the beginning of fear.
“You said Vivian had no control over the company.”
“Madison.”
“You said she only kept the Sterling name for appearances.”
His voice sharpened.
“Stop talking.”
That was the first moment she understood she had never been his partner.
She had been a passenger, useful only while she believed his version of the world.
I let the silence do its work.
Grant finally faced me again.
“You cannot force me to Wichita.”
“I’m not forcing you anywhere.
I gave you a choice.”
He glanced toward the open stairs.
The wind pushed cold air into the cabin, lifting the edge of Madison’s white dress.
Beyond the doorway waited the tarmac, airport staff, and the possibility of being photographed walking away from a flight that had never been his.
The humiliation mattered to him almost as much as the frozen money.
He looked toward the cockpit, then at the folder in my hand.
“If I go to Wichita, this gets handled privately.”
“No.”
