Savannah turned to Addy and mouthed, Is she okay?
Addy glanced at Savannah. “While I was at school Dad called and asked if I could spend the night at his place tomorrow.”
“On a Tuesday?” A school night. That didn’t seem like a great idea.
“I know how to get to bed on time and get up for school. I can even order an Uber if I need a ride.”
“Or call your aunt to get you. You know I don’t like you getting in a stranger’s car.” She’d read too many articles about people getting into what they thought was a car share, only to have something terrible happen.
Addy rolled her eyes as she ran a chip through the queso. “I’ll be fine. I can get a ride.”
Savannah sighed. “I can do that.” She just wouldn’t go inside.
They were cleaning up dishes when her phone rang. The reporter? She sighed and may have rolled her eyes, though she’d deny it if Addy asked.
“Hello?”
“Savannah, Jett Glover. Wondered if you’d meet me for coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She couldn’t fathom why the man would be calling her. It wasn’t like she’d been friendly or helpful.
“I know this great coffee shop near your office.” He paused, then hurried on, and there was a confident assurance in his voice that she would say yes. If only he understood how much that assured she’d say the opposite. “They have a great pain au chocolat. Want to meet me there at eight tomorrow?”
“I’m at work by seven.”
“All the better to take a coffee break at eight.”
“I have a client coming in.” A client who still had a lot of explaining to do about why they hid the fact that their tech would be interesting to the FBI.
“I’ll bring it to you then. At seven thirty. Before they arrive. Have a great night.”
Before she could say a word, he hung up. She stared at the phone as Addy grinned at her.
“You have a date.” The girl’s smile was big enough to crack her face in two.
“Why is that so amusing?”
“Because you avoid men, but this one you like.”
Savannah wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, but truth was a high value to her. So she said nothing but pulled Addy into a side hug and then tickled her niece until she squealed.
Jett might come, but that didn’t mean she’d let him in.
Chapter Sixteen
tuesday, december 15
Front or back?
The lobby looked locked down, so Jett walked around the building and through the parking lot to the law firm’s rear entrance. The lone car indicated that Savannah was the only one inside, which didn’t bode well for him getting in. But if she really did have an appointment at eight, someone would arrive soon. He balanced the drink carrier and bag in one hand and used the other to bang on the back door, but no one came.
Fine.
She’d learn how determined he could be. He tapped out a message on his phone with one hand, then waited a minute before calling her.
Her answer was exasperated. “You don’t give up.”
“Nope. I’ve got coffee and pastries.” He tried to infuse his voice with a smile. His phone buzzed but he ignored it.
She sighed. “I don’t have time.”
Was that a hint of longing in her voice? A car pulled into the parking lot. He turned and watched a fiftyish woman—had to be the receptionist—get out of the sedan. She watched him closely, then shook her head with a smile. Yep, she was becoming an ally.
“At least let me give you the coffee. I shouldn’t drink both.” Or eat both pastries, though he’d find a taker for one. Savannah sighed, but his attention was focused on the receptionist.
The woman pulled out her keys as she neared the door. “You have chutzpah.” She unlocked the door and waved him in. “You remember where her office is?”
Not from this door, but it had to be the only one with its light on. “Thanks.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I let you in, and if I lose my job, you’ll hear from me.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t.”
“Sure you will. Be good to her.” The woman straightened her black jacket and headed to the front, but paused. “She doesn’t trust easily, so be gentle. You’ve got fifteen minutes until her clients arrive.”
“She said eight.”
“Let’s just say they’re early. Always.” Without another word or a backward glance to see where he headed, she walked up the hallway to the reception area, turning on lights as she went.
He took a couple of steps toward the light-filled doorway. A moment later the stately attorney stood there. A beautiful authority about her made her intriguing but not hardened. “You know you didn’t end the call? I heard every word.”
He shrugged. “Guess I let you.” He handed her the pastry bag emblazoned with the logo for Sips and Sweets. “If you’ve never had one, you’ll love the pain au chocolat. Nothing like a fresh French pastry.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “How long do you think I’ve had an office here?”
“No idea.”
“Long enough to have tried every coffee shop in a two-mile radius. Trust me, I’ve been there multiple times.”
“And you love the pastries.”
She finally cracked a smile, though she kept it contained. “I guess I do.” She opened the bag and took a whiff, then sighed. “This is perfect for this morning. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Jett resisted the urge to fist pump. “Where would you like the coffee?”
“My office is fine.” She stepped back to let him in and eyed the carrier but didn’t help herself to a cup. She was the picture of restraint. Interesting. “The name’s always been a little odd to me. Like they should serve wine rather than coffee. Sips and Sweets.” She rolled her eyes. The lady was really letting her guard down and he liked it.
“It fits.” He lifted his cup in a silent toast. “Sips away.” As he took a drink, he absorbed her office. The surfaces were clean except for one file that lay open on her desk. And the creamy yellow walls reminded him of fresh butter. There was something soothing yet energizing about the color, and the scent. “Are you diffusing oil?”
Pink tinged her neck as she glanced at her hutch. “Wild orange. It helps me wake up in the morning. Also makes me happy.” She bared her teeth at him in a hideous grin that couldn’t mask her quiet beauty. She’d have to try harder to discourage him from coming around. She sank into her chair and nibbled at the pastry. “Why are you here?”
Her look warned that she wouldn’t tolerate anything but the truth.
“I got a call from a man on Thursday.”
“So?”
“He claims I didn’t get the article right.” That still bothered him, because the article and its supporting research were rock solid and some of his best work.
“I’m still not sure why you’re here.”
“Do you mind if I sit?” She shrugged, so Jett handed her a to-go cup of latte and then sat on one of the chairs. “My article is accurate. I did all the research, and I was thorough. I can’t reach the man who called me. Now that Donnelly’s dead, that means Tate is my only bet for figuring out what he meant when he said I got the article wrong.”
“He mentioned something similar to me.”
“Did he tell you anything more?”
“No. It was a basic assertion he could prove the truth was different than your article.”
His phone vibrated, the silent signal someone had left a message. “There are odd tweets too. Probably mean nothing, but I’d like to ask Tate his opinion.”
She raised an eyebrow in a skeptical look but said nothing.
“They’ve got a misspelling.”
“That makes them odd? You haven’t read many tweets.”
“How do you spell truth?”
“T-R-U-T-H.”
“Right. These tweets spell it T-R-U-E-T-H.”
&nbs
p; “So the author thinks he or she is Shakespeare.”
He chortled. “I had the same thought.”
“Scary.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. Now came the ask. Always the hard part. “Dustin hasn’t returned my calls.”
She snorted. “You’re surprised?”
“No, but I’d like to know what he thinks he has that proves there’s more to the story.”
“All you want me to do is smooth the way?” At his nod, she looked away.
What was going through her mind? Was there something else he could say that would convince her? Rather than speak he took a sip of his black Americano. He’d opted for a latte for Savannah, guessing she was neither a black coffee gal nor a frou-frou drink person.
Time ticked by, and he wondered if she’d simply stay silent. Then she nodded as if affirming her decision.
“All right.”
“That’s it? No demands?”
“It wouldn’t change anything.” She grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled a note. “I’ll call Dustin when I can.”
“Thank you.” He wanted to press but her phone beeped. “Today would be helpful.”
She nodded and held up the pastry. She mouthed thank you as she picked up the phone.
Hopefully that meant she’d have an answer from Tate today. Now to find a way to keep the investigation moving. He pulled out his phone and listened to the voice mail as he left her office.
“Look into the agency Light Comes After Darkness. CEO is Bernard Julius.” The caller didn’t leave a name, but it sounded like his mystery caller. He checked the number. Yep, the same. He called it back but again no one answered. He pushed through the firm’s back door and resisted the urge to pound something. Fine, it would take more than that to deter him. And he had two possible leads to chase down.
* * *
Savannah barely had time to finish her pastry before Rochelle and John arrived, each carrying a couple of file boxes into the conference room where Emilie waited for them. Savannah texted Dustin a quick note while the trio got their boxes organized.
Reporter really wants to talk about the evidence you have. Call him?
Then she shoved her phone in her pocket and turned off notifications on her watch with a vow to ignore it. She had a much larger problem in front of her.
Emilie wore a sheath dress the clear blue color of the spring sky and a chunky statement necklace in an effortless style. She eyed the boxes as John and Rochelle plopped them on the table. “How much did you bring?”
“About half of it.” Rochelle wiped sweat from her forehead. “We’re not sure how much of this we can keep from the FBI, but it’s critical to keep as much of it as possible here.”
“What do you mean?” Savannah leaned forward, an uncomfortable tingle warning her this wasn’t going to be good.
“You’re our attorney, so if we bring the code to you, you have to protect it.” John gave a smug grin. “Attorney–client privilege.”
“Do not replace my law degree with your Google search.” Savannah stared at him, then at the boxes.
“What did you expect us to do? Bring you a bunch of random letters and files?” John snorted, and she resisted telling him that was exactly what she’d expected.
Savannah rubbed her eyes, but all the boxes were still there when she reopened them. “John, you are too smart to think I’ll play games with the FBI.” She turned to Rochelle. “If you want me to guide you through this, then you will handle this as I tell you. That will include giving up crazy ideas.” She counted to ten. “Attorney–client privilege covers our communications. It covers what you say to me and the documents we use to communicate with each other, not every piece of paper you bring to me.” She gestured to Emilie. “The two of us will go through these boxes with you. Then we’ll determine what can be sent to the agency and how it will be framed. Are we clear?”
She stared at John until he nodded and then at Rochelle, who looked desperate. “Are you firing us?”
“Tempting as it is, no.”
Rochelle’s shoulders collapsed in relief. “We’ve got our chief tech guru working on the code while we’re here. Tell us what to do.”
“You’re going to tell Emilie and me everything we need to know about what’s in these boxes.” She took a breath to steel herself. People assumed she loved confrontation because she was an attorney, but she hated stirring it up. “I need to know you are both being fully truthful with me. If I get any sense you aren’t, you will work with the FBI on your own.” She sank back into her seat. “Are we clear?”
“Yes.” John nodded with a quick affirmation.
Rochelle studied her so long, Savannah wasn’t sure the woman would comply. Then she straightened the bottom of her shirt and shifted on her seat. “All right. This subpoena has to be dealt with because it’s dangerous to our business.”
Emilie kept her hands placed lightly on top of her legal pad as she smiled at them. “Y’all have no idea how much Savannah understands. You aren’t her first clients to find themselves in this position. It’s why you chose this firm.” She smiled in her sweet way, the one that cloaked her resolve. “Would you mind starting at the beginning so I’m up to speed?”
With thoughtful questions, Emilie probed the edges of their technology, and Savannah noticed Rochelle and John were getting better at clearly explaining it, a skill that would help them in future hearings.
“The system is designed to track flights via the satellite network. Data is streamed consistently throughout the flight, unlike current black boxes.”
Emily looked up from her note-taking. “So entire flights are recorded?”
John nodded. “Well, most of it. It won’t usually start until after the captain and first officer run preflight checklists.” He ran his hands through his hair and then tapped the box closest to him. “Here’s where it gets interesting.”
Rochelle grimaced. “That’s not the word I would use for it.” She wouldn’t meet Savannah’s eyes as she continued. “Our test isn’t supposed to be on big airlines yet.”
“Right. Because of the injunction.” Savannah had a bad feeling as she noted the awkwardness between the partners.
Rochelle swallowed hard. “We think Flight 2840 was recorded.” She shook her head. “No, we’re certain it was. But we don’t know how.”
“What do you mean?” Savannah didn’t understand for the first time in the explanation.
Rochelle glanced at John and then at the box he was tapping. “We have data from the crash, and we shouldn’t.”
“You shouldn’t have data from any flights.”
“I know.” Rochelle rubbed her forehead as if a headache throbbed there. “I was up all night trying to figure out what happened, but I can’t.”
“And the FBI knows.” Lights were now dawning in Savannah’s mind. “That’s why they sent the subpoena.”
“Which doesn’t make sense either. If we didn’t know, how could they?”
John rolled his eyes. “Which conspiracy theory would you like me to launch into?”
“None.” Rochelle’s words were sharp, like a mother speaking to an unruly child. “In addition to trying to figure out how this happened, we downloaded the flight data and ran a quick analysis.”
Savannah held up a hand. “Back up. How did your tech get on that plane?”
John shrugged. “We don’t know.”
“Someone stole it, but I can’t prove it yet.” Rochelle looked miserable and exhausted.
Savannah stared at John and then at Rochelle, but neither blinked. What was she supposed to do with this information? “We will have to figure it out, because that’s a violation of the court’s injunction. But setting that aside for the moment, what’s your conclusion about what caused the crash?”
John glanced at Rochelle, who held his gaze for a moment before turning to Savannah and really looking at her for the first time. “There’s indication in the audio transmissions that the captain was distracted.”
“
What kind of indication?” It had better be good or they’d better be wrong.
“It’s subtle. More than she missed rechecking the deicing. The plane was on the ground too long between deicing and takeoff.” John’s eyes almost glowed. “I’d bet money that when the investigation is over, the cause of this crash will be that simple.”
Rochelle shivered. “Listening to the back and forth between the captain and first officer in the last minute is something I’ll never forget.”
Emilie glanced from Rochelle to John and back. “So it’s not a function of stripping the code anymore. What we’re doing is giving the FBI a transcript of the flight.”
“And the code.” Savannah tapped her pen against the table. “The subpoena was clear.”
“Yes. And because this transcript could impact the investigation, I don’t know how we can keep it from them.” Rochelle grimaced and looked away.
“Does that really matter?”
John looked at Savannah like that was a crazy question and took over answering. “If our competitors realize how we’ve digitized everything and analyzed it so quickly, they won’t give up on the infringement lawsuit. Instead they’ll attack harder because this is the kind of disruptive tech that makes them irrelevant. If we win, they’re done.”
“I’m still not tracking.” Savannah would play the dumb card if it meant getting a clear answer.
“There are indications the captain left the cockpit in the middle of the preflight check.”
“That’s unusual?”
Rochelle nodded and pulled a file from her top box. “Very. Once the flight check starts, protocol is for the captain and first officer to finish it without an interruption.”
“And that led to eighty-five people’s deaths?” This time the yes was much more reluctant. “How do you reach that conclusion?”
“The first officer was talking to himself about whether the weather required a second deicing. But he didn’t mention that when the captain returned.”
And then the flight crashed.
His credentials and access to resources would have made it easy enough to find Dustin Tate’s home. But the pilot did nothing to secure his privacy. A fifth grader on a school computer could have found the address in a matter of minutes.
Flight Risk Page 11