The co-pilot entered the cabin and closed the heavy door, sealing out the sound of the rain.

“We are cleared for taxi, Ms. Vance,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

The plane began to roll forward, its tires bumping over the joints in the concrete tarmac.

I looked out the small oval window.

The lights of the city were a distant, blurry smear against the dark horizon.

I opened my briefcase again and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook.

It contained the names of every contact, every bank manager, and every customs official I had worked with during my years as Arthur’s assistant.

I had spent years being the shadow behind his throne.

I had organized his life, anticipated his needs, and cleaned up his messes.

He had assumed my loyalty was a permanent fixture, a natural consequence of his power.

He had never understood that loyalty is a transaction.

The engines roared, the sound filling the small cabin as the plane accelerated down the runway.

The force of the acceleration pushed me back into my seat.