“But you didn’t want us to find the leak,” I said. “You wanted to make sure whatever was down there stayed active.”

Thorne’s face went completely blank.

The polite, professional mask he had worn since boarding in New York was entirely gone.

“You are out of your depth, Grace,” he said quietly.

“What is he talking about?” Whitmore asked, looking between us, his panic turning into confusion. “What cargo?”

“The captain was bringing papers to London,” I said, the realization settling into my chest. “He told me before we departed. He said this flight was the only way to get them there safely.”

Thorne took a step closer to the center pedestal.

His hand remained inside his jacket.

“Owen Pierce was a fool,” Thorne said. “He thought he could change the industry with a few stolen maintenance logs.”

“They weren’t just logs,” I said. “They were safety violations. The ones about the cabin air systems.”

“And now those systems are working exactly as they were designed to,” Thorne said.

“You did this,” Malachi said, turning his head to look at Thorne. “You poisoned my dad’s plane.”