Live helicopter footage showed FBI agents leading Philip Lancaster out of his gleaming corporate tower. His perfectly tailored suit couldn’t hide his rage as agents guided his handcuffed form toward a waiting vehicle.
The smug smile he had worn at the airfield was gone, replaced by a scowl of disbelief.
“Look at his face,” Sasha said, perching on the edge of Alicia’s desk. “He really thought he was untouchable.”
Minutes later, another feed showed Daniel Roark’s arrest at his Hamptons estate. Unlike Philip’s angry display, Daniel maintained his icy composure until agents began loading boxes of documents into federal vehicles.
His calm cracked as he watched years of hidden dealings being carted away.
“Sources confirm simultaneous raids at multiple Elite Jets locations,” a reporter announced. “Federal agents are seizing computers, financial records, and communications dating back five years.”
“The investigation stems from allegations of corruption, bribery of federal officials, and systematic discrimination.”
Alicia leaned back in her chair, her expression neutral despite the vindication playing out on screen.
“Send a message to legal. I want our team monitoring every development.”
“And check on our security protocols again.”
“Already done,” Sasha replied. “Thomas is reviewing the warrant details now.”
“And look at this.”
She pulled up social media feeds on her tablet.
“Their stock is in free fall. Major clients are canceling contracts.”
“The board called an emergency meeting.”
The news coverage shifted to business analysts discussing Elite Jets’ likely collapse.
“This is unprecedented in private aviation,” one expert declared. “The evidence Ms. Rhodes presented leaves no room for denial.”
“The recordings alone...”
“Turn up the volume,” Alicia said, leaning forward as they played clips from her press conference.
“Industry insiders tell us Elite Jets may not survive this scandal,” the analyst continued. “Beyond the criminal charges, they face massive civil penalties and an exodus of high-profile clients.”
“Their discrimination against minority-owned businesses appears systematic and deliberate.”
Sasha scrolled through more updates.
“Three board members have resigned already. Their biggest investors are demanding emergency audits.”
“And look, other executives from their partner companies are stepping down.”
“Like rats leaving a sinking ship,” Alicia murmured, watching Philip’s scowling face on screen again.
The coverage cut to archived footage of the two men at luxury events, showcasing their former glory. Philip Lancaster raised champagne toasts on his mega yacht.
Daniel Roark hosted elite gatherings at his mountain lodge. Their world of untouchable privilege was crumbling in real time.
“Ms. Rhodes.”
Sasha’s voice softened.
“Do you remember what you told me in the helicopter that day? About not letting bullies dictate your worth?”
Alicia turned from the screens, meeting her assistant’s gaze.
“I remember.”