at him.
He appeared around forty, with a closely trimmed beard, a white shirt beneath a navy jacket, and tired gray eyes.
“Thank you,” Brooke whispered.
“You’re welcome.
I’m Reid.”
“Brooke.”
He helped her secure the folded stroller, retrieved Lily’s stuffed rabbit when it fell beneath the seat, and eventually made Lily laugh by turning a napkin into a crude little bird.
He asked no personal questions.
That alone made Brooke trust him more than she expected.
Twenty minutes into the flight, however, Brooke noticed passengers looking toward him.
One man repeatedly angled his phone across the aisle.
Two women whispered after recognizing Reid.
Reid’s posture stiffened.
Eventually he leaned toward Brooke.
“Can I ask you for an unusual favor?”
She immediately became guarded.
“What kind?”
“Could you pretend to sleep on my shoulder?”
Brooke stared at him.
Reid nodded subtly toward the passenger holding the phone.
“They’re trying to record me.
If we look like a tired family, they may stop.”
Brooke almost refused.
Then she saw something beneath his composed expression.
Not vanity.
Fear.
She adjusted Lily against her chest and rested her head lightly on Reid’s shoulder.
It was supposed to last a minute.
Instead, Brooke fell asleep.
When she woke, Lily was still asleep and Reid had barely moved.
“I’m sorry,” Brooke whispered, sitting upright.
“You needed it.”
Brooke reached into the diaper bag for a bottle.
A folded printout slipped partially free.
It was a copy of the supposed divorce decree Trevor had sent her.
Reid glanced at it and immediately frowned.
“Where did you get that?”
Brooke pushed it back into the bag.
“My former husband.”
“May I see it?”
“Why?”
Reid hesitated.
“The seal looks wrong.”
Before Brooke could ask how he knew, the passenger across the aisle leaned toward them.
“Mr.
Callahan, I’m sorry, but are those rumors about the federal investigation true?”
Brooke turned slowly toward Reid.
The passenger continued eagerly.
“My brother works in banking compliance.
He said you’re the attorney who exposed the Madsen account network.”
Brooke felt every muscle in her body tighten.
Reid’s expression changed.
“Your husband’s name,” he said quietly.
“What is it?”
“Trevor Madsen.”
For the first time, Reid looked genuinely alarmed.
He removed a business card and placed it face down on Brooke’s tray table.
“When we land, don’t call him.
Don’t tell him where you’re staying.
And don’t delete anything he has ever sent you.”
“Why?”
Reid looked toward Lily before answering.
“Because Trevor may be hiding more than an affair.”
Reid explained only what he legally could.
He was a partner at Callahan, Brooks & Pierce, a Charlotte law firm specializing in complex financial fraud and corporate investigations.
For eight months, his team had represented a group of investors who suspected money had been diverted from several regional construction and logistics companies.
Multiple shell companies had surfaced.
Several shared directors, mailing addresses, or banking intermediaries connected to the surname Madsen.
Reid was careful not to accuse Trevor personally.
“A common surname is not evidence,” he said.
“But forged domestic filings combined with unexplained financial movement is enough to make me cautious.”
Brooke told him about the changed locks, the emptied accounts, and Trevor’s claim that she had signed divorce papers.
Then Reid asked a question that made her feel foolish.
“Did he
