She traded a quick glance with Preston, then smiled.
“I hope your trip is unforgettable.”
“Oh, Lorraine,” I said softly. “I’m sure it will be.”
At 5:48, I drove out of the estate. In my rearview mirror, a black Mercedes pulled out after me. It was Preston’s, with Lorraine in the passenger seat. They wanted a front-row view of my humiliation.
What they didn’t know was that Ortega had already contacted airport police, and investigators were quietly documenting the setup.
At 6:02, Preston made his anonymous call, reporting that a woman matching my description was carrying a concealed weapon onto a departing flight. The airport’s reporting system recorded the whole thing.
At 6:19, my phone buzzed.
Security might have a few questions for you. Don’t make a scene.
Then a second message arrived.
Maybe now you’ll understand who controls this family.
I forwarded both to Ortega and walked calmly toward the terminal.
For the first time in seven years, I wasn’t afraid of what Preston might do next.
I was curious how he would explain what he’d already done.
