Maintenance plate discrepancy.
Primary records mismatch.
No conclusion.
Daniel had not written more because he did not trust the hangar network anymore.
Camille closed the tablet.
Her driver glanced back.
“Problem?”
“Maybe.”
“How bad?”
“I’ll tell you when I know.”
The SUV turned through a security gate.
Beyond it rose the enormous private aviation complex.
Atlas Crown did not look like a normal hangar.
The reception building had limestone walls, tinted glass, palm-lined driveways, valet parking, and a sculpture outside that looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy.
Behind it stood the aircraft facility.
Three vast hangars.
White roofs.
Floodlit ramp.
Jets positioned under bright clean lighting.
Luxury cars occupied half the visitor parking.
Camille immediately noticed an event was underway.
Men in suits.
Women in gowns.
Champagne.
A line of black SUVs.
She checked calendar.
Sovereign Arc had not notified Vaughn Meridian of an event.
Interesting.
Her driver stopped.
“Want me to wait?”
“Yes.”
Camille opened the door.
Then stopped.
“Actually, move around the corner.”
He looked confused.
“I don’t want them knowing how I arrived.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Got it.”
She stepped out.
The jeweled coat shimmered beneath the exterior lights.
The driver left.
Camille walked toward the hangar alone.
She did not call Daniel.
Not yet.
At the entrance, a young employee holding a tablet looked her over.
“Good evening.”
“Evening.”
“May I have your name?”
“Camille Vaughn.”
The employee scrolled.
Nothing.
“I don’t see you on tonight’s guest list.”
“I’m not attending the event.”
“Oh.”
“I need access to Hangar Two.”
The employee looked behind her as though expecting an assistant.
“Hangar Two is restricted tonight.”
“I know.”
“Are you with one of the charter groups?”
“No.”
“Member?”
“No.”
The employee’s smile became professionally uncertain.
Camille reached into her coat and handed over a Vaughn Meridian executive credential.
The woman looked.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then she scanned it.
The tablet flashed green.
The employee immediately straightened.
“My apologies, Ms. Vaughn.”
“No need.”
“Would you like me to call Mr. Vale?”
“No.”
“Mr. Ellison?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“No.”
The woman hesitated.
“Your credential gives full access.”
“That’s why I brought it.”
Camille continued walking.
The first hangar was full of guests.
Champagne tables stood between aircraft tow lines.
A jazz trio played near a black temporary stage.
A white long-range jet sat under presentation lights with its door open.
People posed beside it.
A host was explaining custom interior options.
Camille kept moving.
No one recognized her.
Good.
She entered the corridor toward Hangar Two.
A man in a navy suit stepped into her path.