Chapter 3 - The Freezing of the Assets
Adam’s hand froze mid-air, his fingers clutching the useless piece of gold plastic. He looked up at Dakota, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated with a primal, suffocating terror.
“Dakota...” he whispered, his voice cracking. “What did you do?”
She didn't answer him directly. She stood up straight, her face instantly returning to its mask of polite, professional hospitality. She reached for a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon that was chilling in a silver bucket on her trolley.
“Would you care for some champagne, Miss Vance?” Dakota asked Trinity, her voice clear, melodic, and carrying perfectly across the cabin. “It is a remarkably fine year. Highly recommended for... celebratory occasions.”
Trinity glared at her, her jaw tight. “No. I want a vodka tonic. And I want you to stay away from our seats.”
“Of course,” Dakota smiled, her fingers effortlessly popping the cork of the champagne bottle with a soft, controlled sigh of escaping gas. She poured the golden, bubbling liquid into a crystal flute, filling it to the exact millimeter required by airline protocol. Not a single droplet escaped the rim.
She placed the flute on a silver coaster and set it on the small table in front of Adam.
“Enjoy the champagne, Mr. Gibson,” she said softly. “It’s already been paid for. Along with everything else.”
As she glided back down the corridor, her navy-blue skirt moving with a rhythmic, hypnotic swing, Adam felt the physical boundaries of the cabin constricting even further. He felt like he was drowning in ten thousand feet of pressurized air.
With trembling fingers, he picked up his phone. He had no cellular signal over the middle of the Atlantic, but he had hoped to access the airline’s internal intranet portal, which sometimes allowed restricted access to banking apps.
He managed to connect to the local server. He opened his primary offshore banking app, his thumbprint shaking on the sensor.
The screen loaded.
The account balance of Gibson Global Holdings—the account where he had deposited the four hundred thousand dollars of diverted corporate capital—did not show his balance.
Instead, the screen displayed a single, devastating notification:
ACCOUNT SUSPENDED. LEGAL HOLD APPLIED BY ORDER OF THE CONNECTICUT SUPERIOR COURT.
Adam gasped, a sharp, choked sound escaping his throat. He tapped his screen frantically, trying to log into his personal checking account, his retirement fund, his corporate credit card portal.
Every single one of them returned the same cold, robotic message.
Suspended. Frozen. Under Review.
The Silent BleedingHe sat back in his seat, the leather feeling cold and hard against his back. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking so violently he could barely hold his phone.
He had been completely, systematically dismantled.
Dakota hadn't just discovered his affair. She had discovered his financial fraud. She had gone to his firm's compliance officers, his bank’s forensic accountants, and a high-profile divorce attorney while he was busy buying designer dresses for Trinity. She had presented them with the absolute, undeniable proof of his embezzlement—proof she had likely gathered from his personal laptop while he slept, secure in his belief that she was "entirely in the dark."
She had frozen his assets, blocked his credit cards, and locked him out of his own life—all before the wheels of Flight 882 had even left the ground.
And now, he was trapped in a metal tube at thirty-seven thousand feet, flying toward an incredibly expensive destination where he had no money, no credit, and no way to pay for even a single night at the luxury villa he had promised Trinity.
“Adam?” Trinity’s voice cut through his panic, her tone sharp and demanding. “Why do you look like you're about to throw up? What did she mean by that? What’s wrong with your cards?”
Adam turned his head slowly toward her. His face was a sickly shade of grey, his eyes hollow.
“Trinity,” he whispered, his voice trembling so hard he could barely form the words. “We have a problem.”
“What problem?” she snapped.
“The accounts... they're frozen. All of them.”
Trinity stared at him, her eyes widening in immediate, vicious skepticism. “What do you mean, frozen? Like, a security block? Call the bank, Adam. Tell them you're traveling. You have a platinum card, for God's sake!”
“You don't understand,” Adam said, his voice dropping into a desperate, weeping pitch. “It’s not a security block. It’s a legal hold. Dakota... she found out. She froze everything. The villa, the penthouse, the offshore accounts... it's all gone. I don't have a single dollar, Trinity. Not one.”
Trinity’s expression transformed from anger to absolute, freezing disgust in a fraction of a second. The warmth, the affection, the breathy purrs of the last eight months vanished as if they had never existed.
“What?” she hissed, her voice a sharp, dangerous whisper. “Are you telling me you brought me on a flight to Europe and you can't even pay for the hotel? Are you telling me you're broke?”
“It’s temporary!” Adam pleaded, reaching out his hand to touch hers. “I just need to talk to Arthur. If I can get him to sign the ten-million-dollar contract, I can use the advance management fee to clear the legal holds. I just need to keep things quiet until we land!”
Trinity looked at his outstretched hand as if it were a poisonous spider. She pulled her arm away, her face a cold mask of pure social self-preservation.
“Don't touch me, Adam,” she whispered, her voice carrying a venom that cut deeper than any physical blow. “If you think I'm going to spend ten days in Italy stranded with a bankrupt, fraudulent loser, you are completely out of your mind. The moment this plane lands, I am booking a flight back to Miami on my own card. And you can find someone else to play assistant.”
She turned her back on him, pulling her blanket over her shoulders and shutting him out completely.
Adam sat in the cold silence of his suite, the golden champagne bubbling uselessly in the crystal glass in front of him.
He was alone.
May you like
He looked toward the galley curtain, which parted once more. Dakota stepped out, carrying a tray of warm nuts and fresh towels. She looked at him, her eyes meeting his through the reflection of the cabin window.
She didn't smile. She didn't gloat. She simply watched him, her poised, elegant expression carrying the absolute, terrifying resolve of an architect who had built his prison, locked the door, and was now quietly watching the air run out.
