“…’If I had married you, they would have killed us both. Don’t plug this in until you are completely alone.’
The blood drained from my face. The plastic casing of the flash drive felt ice-cold against my palm. For five years, I had pictured Julian’s face every time I paid off another installment of our canceled reception venue. I had imagined him running off with a bridesmaid, or having a secret second family, or simply being a coward who got cold feet.
I had never imagined him looking like this.
Up close, the illusion of the “casual old friend” completely shattered. The tailored suit he wore was expensive but hung loosely on his frame. There was a faded, jagged scar running just below his collarbone that hadn’t been there when I last saw him, and his eyes—once bright and constantly laughing—were dark, exhausted, and darting nervously toward the aisle.
“Julian,” I whispered, my voice trembling between absolute rage and sheer terror. “What kind of sick joke is this? You destroyed my life.”
“I saved it,” he replied, his voice barely audible over the hum of the jet engines. “Three days before the wedding, I found a discrepancy in the firm’s offshore accounts. I dug too deep. By midnight, there were men in our apartment while you were sleeping. They showed me photos of you, your mother, your sister. They told me if I went to the police, or if I went through with the wedding and kept you close to me, you would all disappear.”
My chest tightened. I remembered waking up to an empty apartment, the door unlocked, his phone left on the kitchen counter.
“I had to make it look like I ran out on you. It was the only way they’d believe you knew nothing,” he said, staring straight ahead at the seatback screen. “I’ve spent the last five years building a case, hiding, running. The drive in your hand has everything. The ledgers, the names, the wire transfers.”
“Why give it to me?” I choked out, gripping the armrest. “Why now? Why on a random flight to London?”
Julian finally turned to look at me, and the sheer panic in his eyes made my breath catch.
“Because it wasn’t a random flight,” he whispered. “They found me in New York. And the man sitting three rows behind us in the aisle seat? He works for them. I don’t think I’m making it off this plane, but they don’t know I slipped you the drive. When we land, you take my bag, you don’t look back, and you go straight to MI5.”
