Chapter 3: Trump Airlines
"Boss, we've arrived at the airport."
The stretch Lincoln rolled to a smooth stop outside Terminal 1 at LAX. Gary's quiet voice pulled Scott back from his thoughts.
He had been replaying the last ten years—every careful move since waking up in that Arkansas foster home, every calculated risk that had brought him here. It still felt like someone else's dream.
"Mm. Let's go." Scott nodded. The engine fell silent.
The black Town Car behind them opened at the same moment. Two enormous men stepped out—both well over six-foot-seven, broad-shouldered and solid. Scott had picked them for a reason: at six-foot-three himself, he wanted bodyguards who could actually shield him if things ever went sideways. A second life was too precious to lose to a stray bullet.
One of the men circled the Lincoln, opened the rear door with a slight bow, and Scott stepped out with practiced ease. Even in a public place he kept half a step of space in front so his protection could move instantly if needed.
"Gary, head back. While I'm gone, follow Karl's instructions exactly."
"Understood, sir." Gary dipped his head, eyes shining with loyalty. Two years on Scott's payroll had turned an ordinary driver into a man who would walk through fire for his boss.
Scott gave a small nod to the bodyguards. "Let's move."
The three of them became the center of attention the moment they entered the VIP corridor. Scott wore a simple dark T-shirt and jeans, but his height and presence made heads turn. Flanked by the two giants in tailored black suits, they looked like a movie star and his personal security detail—which, in a way, they were.
A man in a crisp black suit and gold-rimmed glasses spotted them from thirty feet away. His face lit up with a professional smile as he hurried forward.
"Mr. Rogers! What a genuine pleasure to see you again."
Scott returned the smile, warm but measured. "Hello, Robert."
"Please, sir—just Robert." The man gave a quick, respectful bow. "Robert Parker, at your service."
"Robert it is. I'm in your hands today."
"It is my honor." Robert's grin widened, eyes crinkling with practiced sincerity. He was the assistant manager of Trump Airlines' high-end client services on the West Coast and knew exactly how valuable this twenty-one-year-old client was.
Trump Airlines—yes, that Trump. The same real-estate showman who had turned a fleet of Boeing 727s into rolling palaces in the sky. While every other charter outfit crammed passengers in like sardines, Trump had gone the opposite direction: private bedrooms, full banquet salons, stocked bars, even satellite phones. A one-way flight from Los Angeles to New York cost a little over sixty thousand dollars all-in—cheaper than chartering a Gulfstream III and infinitely more luxurious.
The Gulf War had spiked fuel prices, the recession had killed passenger numbers, and now the debt snowball was burying the whole operation. Trump Airlines was sliding toward bankruptcy reorganization, and everyone in the industry knew it.
None of that concerned Scott. He had no personal stake in Trump's empire, and he had far better political cover than any real-estate mogul could offer. What mattered was the opportunity.
Robert led them through a discreet side entrance into the private VIP terminal—a quiet sanctuary of leather sofas, marble floors, and personal suites. No crowds, no noise. Michelin-level chefs stood ready twenty-four hours a day, and every amenity a wealthy traveler could want was already laid out.
Robert stopped outside a private lounge and bowed again. "Sir, your aircraft is scheduled to depart in thirty minutes. Please make yourself comfortable."
Scott settled into a deep armchair, accepted a glass of water, and decided to get straight to business while Robert hovered attentively.
"By the way, Robert," he said casually, tracing the rim of the glass, "I hear Trump Airlines is heading into bankruptcy reorganization."
Robert's smile faltered for the briefest instant before snapping back into place. He stayed silent.
Scott continued, tone light. "I'm quite fond of your 'Palace in the Sky' 727s. If the company does go under, it would complicate my travel plans. So… is one of those planes for sale?"
Robert's eyes sharpened behind the gold rims, but his voice remained perfectly courteous. "Sir, any decision on selling aircraft would have to come from the highest levels of the group. I will relay your interest to management immediately and exactly as you stated."
Scott nodded. He hadn't expected a regional manager to sign off on a multimillion-dollar asset anyway.
"Then we're settled. If there's news, call Karl directly—you have his number."
"Yes, sir!" Robert answered instantly, posture rigid with deference.
Scott took the fresh coffee his bodyguard handed him, savoring the warmth. By the time the cup was empty, boarding time had arrived.
No ordinary gates, no security lines. A private car waited right outside the lounge to whisk them straight to the airstairs. The entire process was seamless, invisible, and exactly the way Scott preferred to move through the world.