Chapter 5 - The Call My Husband Tried to Hide“DON'T ANSWER THAT.”
Grant froze with his phone halfway to his ear.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
The screen continued glowing.
ADRIAN VALE.
A man whose name had just been mentioned by a nearly dying fighter pilot.
A man connected to the defense systems involved in my final combat mission.
A man who apparently had enough influence to interfere with the recovery of classified evidence.
And now he was calling my husband.
Grant forced a laugh.
“Jessica, you're being ridiculous.”
“Then put the phone down.”
“This is business.”
“Then it can wait.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Not everything revolves around your little military drama.”
General Reed stepped forward.
“Mr. Whitmore, I strongly recommend that you preserve any communications relating to Mr. Vale.”
Grant looked genuinely offended.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No,” Reed replied. “I'm telling you that destroying potentially relevant evidence could create serious legal problems.”
The phone stopped ringing.
A message immediately appeared.
Grant looked down.
I saw only the first line before he turned the screen away.
Do not discuss the flight.
My stomach tightened.
“Grant.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“What?”
“What did that message say?”
“Nothing important.”
I stared at him.
He had lied to me about business trips.
He had lied about where he'd spent certain weekends.
He had lied to his friends about my past.
But those lies had been personal.
This was different.
Someone had nearly died in the mountains.
And Grant was receiving messages about the flight.
“Give the phone to General Reed,” I said.
Grant laughed.
“You've lost your mind.”
“Preserve it. Don't delete anything.”
“I'm not handing my private property to some military officer because my wife suddenly decided to play spy.”
Reed's expression remained controlled.
“Mr. Whitmore, nobody is demanding an unlawful search of your phone. But you have been informed that those communications may be evidence. I suggest you obtain legal counsel and preserve them.”
Grant looked around for support.
Nobody spoke.
Not Carter.
Not the other investors.
Not even Daniel, who had known Grant longer than he had known me.
For the first time, my husband was standing in a room full of wealthy friends with nobody willing to defend him.
And I realized something.
His confidence had always depended on an audience.
Take away the applause, and there was very little left.
Outside, emergency vehicles moved across the snow toward Falcon's aircraft.
Their flashing lights reflected against the windows.
I watched the distant figures approach the fighter.
The pilot canopy opened.
A recovery specialist climbed onto the aircraft.
Then Falcon emerged.
He moved slowly, assisted by two rescue personnel.
Alive.
After everything, he was alive.
A wave of relief passed through me so suddenly that my knees weakened.
I grabbed the console.
General Reed noticed.
“Jessica?”
“I'm fine.”
“You don't look fine.”
“I'm standing.”
He gave me a familiar look.
The same one he'd worn during my rehabilitation when I'd insisted I could complete physical therapy exercises despite barely being able to lift my injured arm.
“That's not the same thing,” he said.
I looked away.
Because he was right.
I had spent six years surviving.
Not necessarily living.
And today, my past had arrived in an aircraft that nearly crashed into a mountain.
Daniel approached.
“Falcon is being examined by the medical team. They're bringing him to the emergency operations building once he's cleared.”
“His condition?”
“Conscious. Talking. Minor injuries reported so far.”
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.
Then Daniel added, “But there's another problem.”
I opened them.
“What?”
“Security received a request from a private contractor to access the aircraft.”
General Reed stiffened.
“Which contractor?”
“Vale Aeronautics.”
The general's expression went cold.
“Deny the request. The aircraft and mission materials remain under military control. Notify the responding security forces.”
Daniel nodded and left.
I turned back to Reed.
“Someone is trying to get to whatever Falcon brought here.”
“Possibly.”
“General, we both know this isn't a coincidence.”
He didn't disagree.
Instead, he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Jessica, I need you to think carefully about your final mission.”
I swallowed.
“What about it?”
“Before you took off, did anyone approach you about changing your planned route?”
The room seemed to recede.
I remembered a crowded operations center.
A hot afternoon.
The smell of burnt coffee.
A senior officer standing beside a digital map.
And one particular instruction that had never sat right with me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Who?”
“Colonel Nathaniel Price.”
Reed nodded slowly.
“He was assigned to operational planning.”
“He told me our original route was compromised and directed us through a different corridor.”
“Did he explain why?”
“Intelligence concerns. That's what he said.”
“And you followed the revised route?”
“It was an authenticated mission order.”
Reed lowered his eyes.
I felt sick.
“General, what aren't you telling me?”
He looked at the empty doorway.
“Price resigned from the military eighteen months after your accident.”
“I remember.”
“He accepted a senior executive position.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where?”
Reed looked directly into my eyes.
“Vale Aeronautics.”
I gripped the back of a chair.
The connection was there.
Not proof.
Not yet.
But something was beginning to form.
A route change.
A missile attack.
An official who later moved into a private defense company.
An aircraft emergency involving a supposed credential connected to me.
And a billionaire contractor trying to access the evidence.
Before I could speak, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
One message.
Colonel Morgan, you survived Syria because we allowed it. Don't make us regret that decision.
My hands went cold.
May you like
Then a second message appeared.
Ask your husband what happened to the money.
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