Instead, he looked at me again. “Do you know why your grandmother added an international travel verification notice to your corporate profile?”
My stomach dropped.
I had no idea what he meant.
Whitaker continued before I could answer.
“She flagged your documents with a standing executive authorization code through a federal compliance liaison program six months ago.”
Vanessa’s face lost color.
The younger officer frowned. “Executive authorization?”
Whitaker nodded. “Some corporate logistics executives involved in international customs coordination maintain verified travel credentials due to the nature of cross-border operations.”
My father finally spoke, sharper now. “That does not explain why we received information suggesting document irregularities.”
Whitaker’s eyes moved toward him slowly.
“Interesting wording.”
Something dangerous entered the silence then.
Not loud danger. Worse.
Controlled danger.
Whitaker opened Vanessa’s printed email again. He scanned it a second time, longer this time, then looked at the header.
“Where exactly did this email come from?”
Vanessa answered immediately. “An internal source.”
“Name?”
“She asked to remain anonymous.”
Whitaker folded the paper once.
“This email uses an outdated company signature format retired four years ago.”
Vanessa froze.
The younger TSA officer looked at the page again.
Whitaker continued calmly. “It also references a customs verification division that no longer exists.” He looked at me. “Which means someone fabricated this using archived company formatting.”
Every muscle in my father’s face hardened.
“Now wait a minute—”
“No,” Whitaker interrupted quietly. “I think we’ve waited long enough already.”
My pulse hammered against my ribs.
Around us, the airport kept moving. Announcements echoed overhead. Rolling luggage rattled across tile. Somewhere nearby, a baby started crying. But inside our corner of the checkpoint, the world had narrowed into something suffocatingly precise.
Whitaker looked at Vanessa.
