Chapter 3: The Collision at Terminal 1
The international departures terminal at O'Hare International Airport was a chaotic, bustling sea of high-society travelers, luxury baggage carts, and flashing flight status boards. Evelyn walked through the sliding glass doors of Terminal 1, her designer heels clicking sharply against the polished terrazzo floor. Julian followed closely behind her, pulling two expensive Rimowa suitcases, a nervous, sweating panic radiating from his posture.
"Evelyn, are you sure about this?" Julian whispered frantically, looking over his shoulder as they approached the exclusive, red-carpeted first-class check-in counter for Air France. "My mother doesn't make empty threats. If she called the treasury, we could be in serious trouble."
"Shut up, Julian," Evelyn snapped, her voice filled with a sharp, controlling arrogance. "Your mother is a coward who cares too much about the family's public reputation to ever cause a scene at an airport. Once we're in international waters, she’ll have no choice but to settle the bill to avoid a public scandal."
Evelyn stepped up to the marble podium, flashing her passport and a brilliant, patronizing smile at the uniform agent behind the desk.
"Good morning. We're checking in for the first-class suite to Nice," Evelyn said, sliding her passport across the counter.
The agent swiped the passport, her fingers tapping rapidly against the keyboard. Suddenly, the agent’s polite demeanor vanished, her face turning an unreadable, professional shade of pale as a high-security flashing red banner appeared on her computer terminal: FLAGGED ACCOUNT: IMMEDIATELY NOTIFY AIRPORT POLICE.
"Is there a problem?" Evelyn asked, her brow furrowing as her toxic ego flared again. "We are first-class passengers. I expect prompt service."
"I apologize for the delay, ma'am," the agent said, her voice incredibly calm as she quietly pressed a silent distress button beneath her desk. "Our system is experiencing a temporary security synchronization error. I need to verify your primary payment method. May I please see the credit card used for the booking?"
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Evelyn smiled triumphantly. She reached into her luxury handbag, pulled out the heavy, black titanium Centurion card, and proudly placed it on the counter, letting it strike the glass surface with a sharp, metallic clink.
"Here. Now hurry up. We have a lounge to visit," Evelyn demanded.
