The morning air smelled of jet fuel and crisp dew. The sky was pale blue, brushed with streaks of gold as the sun climbed higher. I stood at the edge of the tarmac, my hand looped through Scott’s arm, as the white jet waited for him with its engines humming softly. 

His driver had already unloaded his bags. Two men in black uniforms wheeled them toward the plane, their movements almost like it was practiced. Everything about Scott’s life was efficient and unstoppable. Even I ...