Chapter 9 - The Ambush at the Airport Hotel
Later that afternoon, Brandon finally managed to track down where I was staying.
I had returned to the hotel with Toby to pack our bags for the drive back to Chicago. As we stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby, Brandon was standing near the front desk, looking completely unhinged.
He was still wearing his crumpled pilot pants and a rumpled white undershirt. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles carved deep into his face, and his hands shook as he clutched a coffee cup.
"Claire!" he shouted, sprinting across the lobby floor.
Several hotel guests turned to look.
I immediately pulled Toby behind me, positioning my body between Brandon and our son. "Stay back, Brandon. Do not take another step toward us."
"Claire, please, you have to listen to me!" Brandon begged, dropping to his knees right in the middle of the lobby carpet, weeping openly. "It was a mistake! It was an absolute mental breakdown! I had a mid-life crisis, Claire! The stress of the flight schedules, the pressure of providing for us... I lost my mind!"
Toby peered out from behind my coat, his little face filled with confusion and sorrow. "Dad... why are you crying?"
"Toby, buddy, tell your mom to listen to Daddy!" Brandon pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand toward him. "Tell her we’re a family! We’re going to go home and eat pizza, buddy, just like I promised!"
"Do not manipulate our child," I commanded, my voice ringing through the lobby with absolute authority. "You stole his college education to buy real estate for your mistress. You forged my signature on our home mortgage. You told the world I was dead."
Brandon flinched as if I had struck him across the face. "How... how do you know about the mortgage?"
"We know about everything, Captain Matthews," a deep voice boomed from the hotel entrance.
Marcus Vance stepped forward, flanked by two private security officers and a process server wearing a dark suit.
The process server walked straight up to Brandon, who was still kneeling pathetically on the floor, and dropped a thick stack of legal documents onto his lap.
"Brandon Matthews, you are hereby served with a petition for emergency dissolution of marriage, an emergency ex-parte order of protection granting full temporary sole custody of Toby Matthews to Claire Matthews, and a civil lawsuit for corporate fraud, conversion, and breach of fiduciary duty filed by Vance Real Estate Developments LLC."
Brandon stared at the papers in his lap as if they were burning coals. "No... no, no, no! Claire, you can't do this! I am his father! You can't take my son from me!"
"You abandoned your son the moment you erased him from your life to impress another woman," I said coldly. "If you come within five hundred feet of Toby, the Chicago police will arrest you on site. If you attempt to contact me outside of Marcus Vance’s office, you will violate the restraining order."
"Claire, please!" Brandon sobbed, clutching the papers to his chest as hotel security stepped forward to escort him off the premises. "I have the airline disciplinary hearing on Friday! If you don't drop this, they’re going to revoke my commercial pilot’s license! I won't have anything left!"
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I looked at the man I had loved for a decade. I searched my heart for any lingering trace of grief, pity, or nostalgia, but there was nothing left inside me except absolute clarity.
"Then I suggest you learn how to do something else, Brandon," I said softly. "Because your wings are gone."
