Within forty-five minutes, I had systematically dismantled a twenty-thousand-dollar European dream vacation. The only things I couldn’t cancel were their outbound flights, because the plane had already taken off.
I leaned back in my ergonomic chair and looked at the clock.
Right now, they were flying over the Atlantic Ocean. They were sitting in the plush, lie-flat business-class seats that I had used a hundred thousand of my own hard-earned loyalty points to upgrade for them. They were probably sipping complimentary champagne, eating warm mixed nuts, and dreaming of a week living like absolute royalty in the heart of Paris.
They were completely unreachable, entirely disconnected from the digital world, suspended in a metal tube thirty-five thousand feet in the air.
They didn’t know that right now, they were just three homeless people flying through European skies, without a place to rest their heads tonight. They had no hotel, no reservations, and no itinerary. They were about to land in one of the most expensive cities in the world with nothing but a suitcase full of designer clothes and a debit card that belonged to my father, whose credit limit couldn’t cover a single night at a Motel 6 in Paris.
I closed the spreadsheet. I looked at the corner of my office, where my own designer suitcase sat perfectly packed.
I had taken two weeks off work. I had cleared my schedule. I wasn’t about to spend my hard-earned vacation sitting in my living room, brooding over people who didn’t respect me.
I opened a new tab on my browser. I bypassed Europe entirely.
First-Class flights to Tokyo, Japan. Outbound today.
There was a single seat available on a direct flight leaving in four hours. I didn’t hesitate. I booked it, paid the premium fare, and reserved a suite at the Aman Tokyo.
If my family wanted to play games with my generosity, they could learn how to survive the fallout. I, on the other hand, was going to eat Wagyu beef.
Chapter 3: The Hard Landing
Twelve hours later, the world was a completely different place.
I was sitting at a high-end, intimate omakase sushi counter in the Ginza district of Tokyo. The atmosphere was serene, scented with cedarwood and the salty tang of fresh ocean breeze. The master chef had just placed a perfect piece of fatty Toro tuna, brushed with a delicate soy glaze, onto the ceramic plate in front of me.
Just as I picked up my chopsticks, the serenity of the moment was violently interrupted.
My phone, resting face-up on the wooden counter, began to vibrate with the intensity of a magnitude-five earthquake. The screen lit up in a blinding flurry of notifications. It was a relentless, panicked barrage of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages.
The plane had landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
I ignored the incoming calls, letting them bounce straight to voicemail. I calmly placed the Toro tuna in my mouth. It melted like butter. I closed my eyes, savoring the exquisite taste, before picking up my phone to read the digital explosion.
