Her name
was Priya Shah.
She wore a navy coat, carried a leather briefcase, and had the calm expression of someone who spent her life walking into other people’s disasters.
She asked Vanessa to take Mason to the nearby bookstore for ten minutes.
I hesitated.
Vanessa noticed.
“I understand.”
Mason looked at me.
“I want to go.”
I studied him.
“You sure?”
“They have airplane books.”
Vanessa gave me her phone.
“Keep it.”
The gesture was simple.
But it told me she understood exactly what trust meant in that moment.
I nodded.
“Ten minutes.”
They walked away together.
Mason stayed a few feet ahead of her.
Vanessa didn’t try to touch him.
I noticed that too.
Priya waited until they disappeared into the bookstore.
Then she opened her briefcase.
“Your sister forwarded me the documents.”
“How bad is it?”
“The financial side?”
I nodded.
“Potentially very serious.”
She showed me copies of
