Chapter 5 Her father

HEATHER'S POV.

I looked at the man who'd introduced himself as Ernest Dawson, my eyes squinting in confusion until my vision blurred out. I was staring out in space, lost for words. I had questions to ask. Surely, he had me mistaken for someone else. What were the odds that I was the only Heather Winston in the airport, looking to board a flight to Mexico? Heather was a very common female name. There had to be a mix-up somewhere.

"Ma'am? Are you alright, ma'am? Did you hear a word I just said?" Ernest inquired with a look of concern etched across his face.

"I'm sorry. I... You've got the wrong person, I'm afraid," I said, my voice filled with uncertainty.

Ernest's lips stretched out in a smile that showed he understood my hesitations. But it could have meant any other thing. He looked too neat to be an armed robber but weren't scammers rumoured to look good so their victims were unsuspecting of their ill intentions?

"I know it's a lot to take in right now, but you must believe me. Your father is alive and he wants to meet you. He's sent me this far to come get you and you won't have to worry about anything but come with me," Ernest reassured me.

"Look, Mr. Dawson? Yeah.. I really don't have any money. I'm just trying to get away from this place," I said with a small sigh as I looked away from him. I silently hoped he'd get the hint and just leave me alone but I could feel him standing by the side. I considered calling the airport police on him. It was the better thing to do after all. At least he'd be unable to scam people from a prison cell.

"I hope this convinces you and allays all your worries, ma'am," he said and reached into the pocket of his suit's jacket. He produced a small white card which looked to be a photograph.

I looked at him with a hint of skepticism creeping to my face. I wasn't prepared to see the image that met my eyes.

"Where did you get this?" I asked in a mix of surprise and apprehension.

I looked at the photograph again, trying to convince myself that it was a fake. But how possible would it have been for him to get my baby picture? The photo looked as old and genuine as the other copy I had somewhere in my diary. It was the only link I had to my past and to my mother who I never met.

"Your father kept a copy all these years, waiting for the right time to connect with you. And now the time's come," Ernest explained.

"You keep on speaking of my father in the present tense. The father I know is dead and if you think shoving a photograph of me as a baby in my face would place me under a spell for you to steal my money then you're sorely mistaken!" I yelled, venting all my frustration at him. A couple of heads had turned around following my outburst and Ernest stood quietly still, patting his suit down self-consciously.

I let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. It's just.. I'm not in a very good place mentally. A lot of things have happened lately and I just want to get away from it all," I said. I didn't realized I'd begun crying at some point until I felt a line of moisture running down my cheeks.

Ernest took out a handkerchief and held it to me. When I didn't take it, he began saying, "I understand. I'd find it hard to believe me if we reversed roles. But you must trust me. Mr. Mario Alonso wouldn't want anything to happen to his only daughter. It's why he sent me on this assignment-because he trusts that I'd get you home to him safely."

The only reason my resolve slipped down a bit was because he'd just called a name that I'd always wondered about growing up-the same name scribbled in tiny cursive letters on the back of my copy of the photo. I turned the photograph in my hand and felt a wave of goosebumps sprout along my arms as I saw the same familiar letters on this copy. It couldn't be a coincidence.

I'd asked the man I called my father as a child whose name it was-as it clearly wasn't mine and I was pretty sure women weren't named Mario, hence ruling out the chance that it was my birth mother's name. He'd always skirted around the question, now that I recalled. It was either a mistake on the photographer's end or some careless relative had scribbled the name by accident-the stories were just never consistent. I'd eventually stopped bothering about it.. until now.

"Let's say I believe you and all of this is true, why has he taken so long to reach out to me?" I asked.

"My boss, your father, was tied by a promise he made in the past. These are topics I believe he would want to discuss with you as I don't have all the facts. If you'd just come with me," Ernest said calmly.

"But what happens to my flight to Mexico? I'm supposed to be boarding the next plane out of Los Angeles," I explained. I wanted to convince myself against going with this stranger who claimed to know a man who equally claimed to be my father. It was all overwhelming and I felt a bit of vertigo and had to hold the bench for support.

"You don't have to worry about that. Your father lives in Mexico. I'll just help you take your luggage to the jet," Ernest said with a decent smile.

I had a multitude of questions to ask immediately he finished speaking-especially how coincident it was that 'my father' lived in the same city I was fleeing to- but my lips beat my mind to it and formed a different pair of words first. "A jet?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, ma'am. Your father's one of the wealthiest men in Mexico and he doesn't quite like the idea of his daughter flying economy on her trip to see him for the first time," Ernest said. I quickly ticked the ticket I'd been holding in one hand into my purse. He had to have sharp eyesight to spot that little bit of detail. Or was it something he'd dug up as with the picture.

"Okay. I'll go with you," I finally conceded and rose to my feet.

"Thank you for trusting me. And I know your father would be more than glad to meet you again," he said with a smile and helped to take my boxes.

I wanted to ask why he'd said 'again'. Did he mean to imply I'd been born in Mexico? I swallowed back my question and reserved my curiosity for the supposed jet.

"We're heading to your position. Inform the pilot. We leave soonest," Ernest said into a tiny microphone sticking out from his ear.

We were met by an equally neatly dressed man on our way to the jet and he greeted me so respectfully I was shocked into embarrassment. I had a couple of doubts. What if it turned out this was some sort of hoax and I was being kidnapped. Or we got to Mexico-if at all there was a private jet- and 'my father' yelled in honest embarrassment that Ernest had brought in the wrong person. It was possible for two people who'd never met to look alike, right?

"We're here, ma'am," Ernest announced as we got to the foot of a very expensive looking private jet. He offered me a hand and helped me get on the aircraft. He excused himself and went to into the cockpit.

"Good morning, ma'am. Welcome aboard," a nice looking air hostess ushered me over to my seat. "Your father is a very generous patron of my employer. It's an honor to finally meet you," she greeted with a smile.

Did this mean she was also in on the whole act?, I wondered to myself. "Thank you, I guess," I said with an unsure smile.

Don't be silly. How could they all be acting this?, I cautioned myself. It would take an awful lot of money to pull a prank as elaborate as this. No one would go that far.

"Make yourself comfortable. We stocked the latest edition of the Vogue and the El magazine as well as couple others. Shall I get you anything to drink before takeoff?" she asked.

"Maybe coffee...," I said with a hesitant shrug. I intended to stay awake anyways, as my paranoia wouldn't let me believe I was safe in the hands of these strangers.

"Of course. White or black?"

"White please," I said.

"I'll be right back," the attendant smiled and walked away. As I settled into my seat, I couldn't help but feel mildly embarrassed by the attention I was receiving. I'd flown business class a couple of times in the past with Roland-only when he wasn't too busy with work to spend time with me.

As the pilot announced that it was time for takeoff, the reality of my situation began settling in and I realized I was more than anxious to meet 'my father'.