Chapter 5 - THE HELICOPTER THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE LEFT THE GROUND
“GRANT STOLE EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS FROM OUR SAFETY BUDGET. NOW A CHILD'S LIFE MAY DEPEND ON A HELICOPTER HE NEVER BOTHERED TO REPAIR!”
I stared at the phone in my hand.
For five years, I had believed Grant's obsession with financial performance was simply part of his personality.
He reviewed every expense.
He questioned every purchase.
He criticized employees who requested additional resources.
I had defended him.
I'd told people he was protecting the company's future.
Now I understood that he had been protecting his own.
"Elena," I said carefully, "which helicopter?"
"N417NR. The one scheduled for the pediatric transfer tomorrow morning."
"Is it safe?"
"I don't know yet. That's the problem."
I closed my eyes.
An aircraft wasn't automatically unsafe because money had been stolen.
But if maintenance records were falsified, nobody could responsibly assume it was airworthy.
"What can we do?"
"I've already notified our lead maintenance technician. He's reviewing the logs and physical inspection records."
"Ground it until you're satisfied."
"I intend to."
Elena hesitated.
"But Grant has been pressuring operations to keep every aircraft available."
"Let him complain."
"Claire, you're supposed to be dead."
I glanced toward Rebecca.
"Then he'll have to find another reason to explain why safety procedures still apply."
For the first time in five days, I felt something stronger than fear.
Purpose.
Northstar wasn't simply a company my mother had left me.
It was an organization that transported premature infants, injured workers, organ transplant patients, and families who couldn't afford to waste precious hours.
I wasn't going to let Grant's greed turn those aircraft into flying risks.
Rebecca contacted the appropriate aviation authorities through the company's established reporting channels while Elena initiated an internal maintenance hold.
No one tried to manufacture evidence or manipulate the process.
The maintenance team would inspect the aircraft.
The pilot would refuse the flight if it wasn't properly released.
And the patient would be transferred using a different certified medical operator if necessary.
That was how a responsible organization was supposed to work.
Meanwhile, Detective Ortiz began examining the financial documents.
"Ridgepoint Logistics," she said during our evening meeting. "The company receiving those payments doesn't appear to maintain any aircraft."
"What does it do?"
"On paper, consulting and procurement."
"And in reality?"
"We're tracing the ownership."
Thomas sat across from us.
He had barely spoken since watching my mother's recording.
I could see the strain in his face.
The truth had reopened a wound he'd carried for most of his adult life.
But when Ortiz mentioned Ridgepoint, he suddenly looked up.
"What's the registered address?"
Ortiz read it.
Thomas slowly shook his head.
"I know that building."
"How?"
"It used to belong to one of Victor Kessler's holding companies."
Rebecca frowned.
"Are you certain?"
"I made deliveries there when Northstar was getting started."
Ortiz wrote something down.
"That could be important."
I looked at Thomas.
"Then Martin may be using his father's old financial network."
"That's what it sounds like."
The thought made me sick.
My mother had spent years trying to protect Northstar from the Kessler family's influence.
Then I'd welcomed Grant into our leadership team and trusted him to manage the company.
I had opened the door myself.
Not because I was foolish.
Because a marriage was supposed to be built on trust.
And Grant had deliberately exploited mine.
Later that night, I was allowed another short visit with Noah.
He lay in his bassinet wearing a tiny blue cap.
His fingers curled around mine.
"Hello, sweetheart," I whispered.
He made a small sound.
I smiled.
"You've had a very exciting first week, haven't you?"
The nurse checked his monitor.
"He's a fighter."
I looked down at him.
"Yes, he is."
For several minutes, I forgot about insurance policies, financial transfers, and corporate politics.
I was simply a mother looking at her newborn son.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Elena appeared.
AIRCRAFT GROUNDED. MISSING MAINTENANCE VERIFICATION. SUBSTITUTE TRANSPORT CONFIRMED.
I exhaled slowly.
"Good."
"What is it?" Thomas asked from the doorway.
"We stopped the helicopter from flying."
He smiled.
"Your mother would be proud."
I looked at Noah.
"I hope I can become someone he'd be proud of too."
Thomas walked closer.
"You already are."
The next morning, Elena sent a detailed report.
A required inspection record had been marked complete even though the technician listed on the form had been on medical leave.
The replacement component recorded in the aircraft file couldn't be located.
Until those discrepancies were resolved, the helicopter would remain grounded.
The young patient was safely transferred by another medical aviation service.
Her name was Mia Delgado.
She was six years old and needed specialized cardiac treatment.
Her family had no idea how close their daughter's transportation had come to becoming another complication in an already frightening medical emergency.
I stared at Mia's photograph, which her mother had authorized the hospital to share with the transport coordinators.
A little girl with dark curls.
A stuffed purple rabbit.
A hopeful smile.
Something inside me shifted.
Grant hadn't only betrayed me.
He had betrayed every parent who trusted our aircraft to bring their children home.
That afternoon, Ortiz returned.
"We've confirmed Ridgepoint's corporate connections," she said.
"Martin?"
"An investment vehicle controlled by the Kessler family owns part of it."
"And Grant?"
Ortiz placed a document in front of me.
"An account associated with Grant received several substantial transfers from Ridgepoint."
I stared at the figures.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Repeated payments.
Money that belonged to maintenance, training, and emergency operations.
"Why would he need the insurance payout too?"
"That," Ortiz replied, "is one of the questions we're investigating."
Rebecca looked at the documents.
"Maybe he needed more money to cover the transfers before an audit."
"Or he intended to disappear after taking everything," Thomas suggested.
I shook my head.
"Grant would never willingly disappear."
They looked at me.
"He wants people to admire him. He wants everyone to think he's the successful businessman who saved Northstar."
I glanced at the tablet beside my bed.
The memorial service recording was still there.
Grant delivering his sorrowful speech.
Grant accepting condolences.
Grant pretending to be a devoted husband.
"He wanted my money," I said. "But he also wanted my reputation."
Before anyone could respond, my phone rang.
The screen displayed an unfamiliar number.
I hesitated.
Then answered.
"Hello?"
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
"Claire?"
My blood went cold.
I knew that voice.
Brooke Ellis.
Grant's mistress.
The woman who had stood beside him while our cabin burned.
"How did you get this number?" I demanded.
"Please don't hang up."
"What do you want?"
Her voice shook.
"Grant is going to do something terrible."
I felt an icy sensation move through my chest.
"He already did."
"I know."
"Then go to the police."
"I can't. He's watching everything."
There was a brief silence.
May you like
Then Brooke whispered:
"Claire, Grant knows there's a survivor from the fire. And he's already hired someone to find out where you are."
