Clare stared at it. I did not make that change. Her denial barely left her mouth before the cabin printer activated inside the forward galley. A single page emerged. Officer Mercer retrieved it.
At the top was a child custody order instructing Kansas City authorities to separate Zuri and Nia immediately after landing. At the bottom appeared the electronic signature of the person who requested it, Simone Brooks, their mother. The document had been filed that morning, 6 weeks after she died. Nia stared at their mother's signature. She wanted us separated.
No, Zuri said immediately. She took the page from Officer Mercer and examined the bottom. The name read Simone Brooks, but the final S curved backward. Their mother never signed it that way. Someone copied her name from the wrong document.
Officer Hayes compared the signature with the sealed travel form. Zuri was right. The letters matched closely, but the final stroke differed. Clare spoke from the galley. A digital signature can change between systems.
Why are you defending it? Zuri asked. Clare fell silent. Officer Mercer checked the orders transmission record. It had not come from a court server.
It had entered through the airlines family passenger services archive. The same department Celeste once directed. Hayes faced her. Who still has access to your old files? I resigned 3 years ago.
That was not my question. Celeste looked toward the sealed bracelets. senior administrators, legal officers, airport coordinators, and former directors. Celeste did not answer. Captain Cole ordered flight 218 to continue toward Kansas City. Police would secure the aircraft before anyone disembarked.
Zur's phone vibrated again. Unknown sender 417. The order is false. The warning attached to it is not. A locked audio file appeared beneath the message.
Zuri pressed it. Her mother's voice filled the cabin. If Zuri and Nia are aboard flight 218, keep them together. Do not release them to anyone using my name. Ask Clare Voss what happened at gate 17.
Nia stopped breathing for a moment. The voice was unmistakable. Not because it sounded perfect, but because Simone paused before Nia's name, the way she always did when trying not to say Zuri twice. The recording ended. Every face turned toward Clare.
What happened at gate 17? Officer Hayes asked. Clare pressed both hands against the galley counter. I don't remember. Nia hugged Mr. Buttons.
Mom remembered. A gray-haired passenger in row four rose halfway from his seat. I remember gate 17. His name was Dr. Everett Lane. He said his 12-year-old nephew had traveled alone the previous year.
The airlines record claimed the boy was delivered to him at 6:10 p.m. He reached me after 8. Dr. Lane said he had been left in an employee waiting room at gate 17. Officer Mercer looked toward Clare. Were you involved? I handle hundreds of flights.
Dr. Lane stepped into the aisle. You signed the handoff form. Clare's jaw tightened. If the record contains my number, someone may have copied it just as they copied it today. You spoke to me, Dr. Lane said.