Chapter 2 - The Order That Changed Everything
“Someone accessed your private passenger manifest,” Vincent said.
Damian held out his hand.
Vincent passed him the phone.
A photograph filled the screen.
Caitlyn recognized the image before she could stop herself from reacting.
It was Noah.
Her brother was lying in his rehabilitation bed, his head turned toward the window. A white envelope rested against his chest.
Across the envelope, someone had written three words.
SHE BELONGS HERE.
Caitlyn made a small sound.
Damian looked at her immediately.
“You know him?”
She couldn't answer.
Vincent noticed her expression and moved closer.
“Miss Elmore?”
“That’s my brother.”
The cabin became silent.
Damian studied the photograph again.
“Where was this taken?”
“St. Catherine’s Rehabilitation Center. Pennsylvania.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent checked the message.
“Forty minutes ago.”
Caitlyn's fingers went numb.
“Noah can't defend himself,” she whispered. “He can't even get out of bed.”
Damian's expression hardened.
“Who sent this?”
“Untraceable number,” Vincent replied. “Message came through a temporary relay. The sender also knew our flight plan.”
Damian looked toward the cockpit.
“Change our arrival airport. Inform only the pilots.”
Vincent nodded.
“And get someone to that rehabilitation center,” Damian continued. “Someone I trust.”
Caitlyn rose abruptly.
“I need to call them.”
She dialed the nursing station.
No answer.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Her breathing became shallow.
“Please,” she whispered.
Damian reached across the narrow space and took the phone gently from her trembling hands.
He called Vincent's security coordinator directly.
“This is Hamilton. I need a welfare check at St. Catherine's. Patient Noah Elmore. Immediate priority. Contact local police if access is denied.”
He listened.
“Keep me informed.”
When he returned the phone, Caitlyn stared at him.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I already did.”
“Mr. Hamilton, I don't understand why someone would—”
“Neither do I.”
His gaze moved toward Vincent.
“But I intend to find out.”
For the next twenty minutes, Caitlyn tried to continue editing the contract.
She couldn't read a sentence.
Her tablet slipped from her lap.
Damian caught it before it hit the floor.
“Stop working.”
“I need to finish—”
“Caitlyn.”
She looked at him.
“That wasn't a suggestion.”
Something in his voice had changed.
He wasn't angry.
He sounded concerned.
That frightened her almost as much as the photograph.
“I can't lose this job,” she said quietly.
Damian frowned.
“Who said anything about your job?”
“Nobody. I just…”
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
She lowered her face.
Damian watched her struggle to regain control.
“How long have you been awake?”
She hesitated.
“Forty-six hours.”
Vincent turned sharply.
“Forty-six?”
Damian's jaw tightened.
“Who authorized that schedule?”
Caitlyn looked confused.
“You did.”
The words escaped before she could reconsider them.
Vincent stared at the floor.
Damian said nothing.
For the first time in years, someone had answered him with a truth he couldn't dispute.
He looked at the tablet, the untouched water, and the exhaustion etched beneath her eyes.
Then he removed his jacket.
“Close your eyes.”
“Sir?”
“Five minutes.”
“I really shouldn't.”
“That's enough, Caitlyn.”
She leaned back reluctantly.
The plane moved through a pocket of turbulence.
Her shoulder brushed his arm.
She immediately apologized.
“Sorry.”
“It's an airplane,” he said. “Not a courtroom.”
She almost smiled.
A few minutes later, her eyes closed.
Her breathing slowed.
Then her head tilted.
And settled against his shoulder.
Vincent noticed first.
He stopped speaking.
One of the security men looked horrified.
Another reached for Caitlyn's arm, intending to move her.
Damian raised two fingers.
“No one wakes her.”
The man froze.
Damian looked down at the sleeping woman.
Her cheek rested against his black shirt.
One hand still loosely held the edge of her tablet.
She looked younger without the constant effort of appearing competent.
And heartbreakingly tired.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“Boss, about the photograph—”
“Later.”
“There's something else.”
Damian's eyes narrowed.
Vincent showed him a second message.
This one contained no photograph.
Only a sentence.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T DIE IN THE ACCIDENT YOU WERE TOLD ABOUT.
Damian stared at the screen.
His father had been murdered twenty years earlier.
And no one outside his family knew the official story was false.
“Trace it,” he whispered.
Vincent nodded.
Damian looked at Caitlyn again.
Then at the photograph of her brother.
For the first time, he wondered whether the quiet secretary beside him had been brought into his life deliberately.
And whether protecting her might expose the one secret he had spent twenty years trying to bury.
The jet began its descent.
Caitlyn slept peacefully against his shoulder.
Damian did not move.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
He answered.
His face drained of color.
“Boss,” he said slowly.
“The rehabilitation center says Noah Elmore was discharged six hours ago.”
Damian went still.
May you like
Vincent swallowed.
“According to their records, you personally signed the authorization.”
