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Not a hint of panic. Not confusion.
Just irritation, quickly wiped away and replaced with a mask of fake worry.
Minutes later, in the airport’s medical room, as a nurse checked my pulse, Grace shut the door behind us and pulled out her phone with hands that weren’t entirely steady.
She pressed play.
Sabrina’s voice filled the room—smooth, calm, rehearsed.
“The altitude will make his body give out naturally.
He won’t remain in this world by the time we land.
Emergency response up there is limited. It’ll look like nature took its course.”
Then a pause.
Mark’s voice followed—thin, strained, but clear.
“Six hundred fifty thousand dollars. I’m ready.”
The recording ended.
So did the version of my life I thought I knew.
Grace’s eyes softened. “Three years ago, my father’s passing looked like an accident too. I couldn’t prove otherwise. When I heard her speak, I couldn’t just walk away.”
Through the small window of the medical room, I watched the plane—their plane—roll away from the gate and disappear into the desert sky.
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