Chapter 5 - The Vendor With No Workshop
Apex had no hangar.
No warehouse.
No mechanics.
No FAA repair-station certificate.
AFL Services LLC, its successor entity, had a Delaware address, a bank account in New York, and eleven years of Cross Meridian payments.
That was essentially all.
Damian sat with forensic accountant Owen Park at six the following morning.
“How did we pay eleven million dollars to a company with no employees?”
“Your company did not.”
Damian frowned.
Owen turned the screen.
“Cross Meridian Aviation paid three million. Corporate security paid two. Executive administration paid one-point-seven.”
“And the rest?”
“Strategic services.”
Damian already knew whose division that was.
Elena’s.
Owen opened another ledger.
“Larkspur Ventures received seventy-three million.”
“Connection?”
“Fourteen-point-six million from Larkspur went to AFL.”
Damian leaned back.
“So my sister’s consultant paid the aircraft vendor.”
“Not necessarily her consultant.”
“We still don’t know the owner.”
“We’re close.”
Helen entered.
She had not slept.
“Zurich?”
Damian shook his head.
“Helix gave us remote execution if lenders approve.”
“Will they?”
“Not if this hits them.”
It already had.
A journalist had posted the video of Damian kicking Frank’s toolbox.
Within hours it had spread across financial social media.
BILLIONAIRE CEO FIRES MECHANIC WHO GROUNDS JET
Cross Meridian’s board received dozens of calls.
Employee forums exploded.
Damian watched the clip once.
His own face disgusted him.
Frank looked older in the video than Damian remembered.
Smaller.
Not weak.
Just physically vulnerable in a way Damian had ignored.
Helen watched him.
“You should apologize.”
“To Frank?”
“Yes.”
“Privately?”
“Publicly.”
Damian looked at her.
“That helps the company.”
Helen’s eyes hardened.
“I’m talking about the man.”
Damian almost laughed at the irony.
Frank arrived at nine with Maya.
He was technically suspended with pay pending the safety investigation because Damian’s verbal firing had not followed employment procedures.
That fact irritated Damian.
It also relieved him.
Frank put his damaged toolbox beside the conference table.
Damian looked at it.
“Frank.”
“Yes?”
“I shouldn’t have kicked that.”
“No.”
Damian waited.
Frank did not rescue him.
“I shouldn’t have fired you for grounding the plane.”
“No.”
“I was wrong.”
Frank looked at him.
“That was almost an apology.”
Damian exhaled.
“I’m sorry.”
Frank nodded once.
“Good.”
No forgiveness ceremony.
No emotional handshake.
Just accepted fact.
Damian preferred it.
Owen presented AFL’s banking records.
A series of payments ended in a private investment partnership.
Lakebridge Capital LP.
Helen frowned.
“I know that name.”
Adrian, joining remotely, answered:
“Victor’s brother-in-law.”
Damian stared.
“Who?”
“Daniel Sloane.”
Victor’s older brother.
A distressed-asset investor with a history of bankrupt funds.
Owen continued.
“Lakebridge received six-point-two million from AFL.”
Damian said:
“So Victor is stealing through his brother.”
“Potentially.”
Frank looked at the payment dates.
One coincided with the 2014 Apex crisis.
Another with the month Apex dissolved.
“They never shut it down.”
Helen’s face went pale.
“They renamed it.”
Frank nodded.
“And kept paying.”
Damian turned toward his mother.
“Did Victor tell you Apex was terminated?”
“Yes.”
“Did you verify?”
Silence.
“No.”
Damian laughed bitterly.
“So the great Helen Cross accepted someone’s word.”
She met his eyes.
“You accepted hundreds of pages without reading the succession provision.”
The blow landed.
Damian looked away.
Frank said:
“This family is exhausting.”
Maya nearly smiled.
Then she placed a folder on the table.
“I pulled receiving records for the part I rejected last month.”
She pointed to a serial number.
“The paperwork says manufacturer origin: Collins Aerospace.”
Frank leaned closer.
“And?”
“The physical serial prefix was wrong.”
“Did you photograph it?”
“Yes.”
She opened her phone.
Frank studied the image.
“Good.”
Damian asked:
“Good?”
“Good that she ignored whoever told her not to document it.”
Maya looked embarrassed.
“My father is an auditor.”
Frank smiled faintly.
“That sounds painful.”
Maya pointed to the shipping label.
The return went to AFL.
“Who told you to send it?”
“Leo Marsh.”
The missing flight director.
The FBI was already searching for him.
His company vehicle had been found at Newark Airport.
No record showed him boarding a commercial flight.
Then Owen opened Larkspur’s beneficial-ownership file.
He had obtained it through banking KYC records produced under subpoena.
The room became silent.
Larkspur Ventures was held through a Nevada trust.
Trustee:
Mercer Fiduciary Services.
Beneficial economic interest:
E.C. Strategic Holdings.
Damian looked at Helen.
“E.C.”
Helen said nothing.
Maya whispered:
“Elena Cross?”
Owen nodded.
Damian stood.
“My sister owns Larkspur.”
“Indirectly, yes.”
“Seventy-three million dollars from my company.”
“Paid into an entity economically tied to her.”
Helen covered her mouth.
Frank looked away.
Damian’s phone rang.
Elena.
He answered.
“Where are you?”
Her voice was calm.
“At home.”
“We found Larkspur.”
Silence.
Damian continued.
“You own it.”
“No.”
“Owen has the KYC file.”
Another pause.
Elena exhaled.
“It’s a family investment vehicle.”
“Don’t.”
“Damian—”
“You lied to Mom.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You said the consulting engagements were legitimate.”
“They are.”
“To a company that pays fourteen million to a shell aviation vendor?”
“I don’t manage every downstream contractor.”
“You beneficially own the company.”
“Through a trust.”
“Seventy-three million dollars.”
Elena’s voice hardened.
“You want to accuse me? Do it with lawyers in the room.”
She hung up.
Helen sat motionless.
Frank asked:
“What happens to her if the Zurich deal closes?”
Damian turned.
“What?”
“The audit rights.”
Owen answered.
“Helix lenders require Cross Meridian to certify related-party vendor disclosures for four years.”
Damian understood.
If he signed in Zurich, Larkspur would be disclosed—or its concealment would become a fresh representation problem.
Elena had hours, not weeks.
Maya whispered:
“She needed the deal stopped.”
Frank looked through the glass at the grounded jet.
“Stopping a deal doesn’t require cutting an aircraft.”
Damian’s expression became cold.
“No.”
Helen stared at her son.
Damian finished the thought.
“If Mom and I died, the deal would stop itself.”
Then his phone buzzed with a message from Victor Sloane.
We need to meet privately. Elena is not who you think she is.
Damian looked at Helen.
“He wants to talk.”
Frank shook his head.
“Don’t go alone.”
Damian almost laughed.
“You’re a mechanic.”
Frank replied:
“And you’re still alive because one ignored an executive.”
May you like
Damian’s smile disappeared.
For once, he listened.
