Eleven years.
It had been eleven long years since that fateful night when the sky ignited in flames and ripped Oliver Reid's world apart. The memory of that moment, of watching Natalie's plane burst into a blinding inferno above JFK, was forever etched in his mind. Time hadn't dulled the pain—it had simply become more bearable, a constant ache he'd learned to live with.
They called it a natural disaster. That's what the government said—an "unprecedented lightning storm." A freak event where bolts of lightning had struck not just one, but five airplanes across four different airports in four corners of the globe. In a matter of hours, hundreds of lives were erased, and the world was thrown into chaos.
It was a night that would go down in history as The Night of the Strikes—a name given not only to memorialize the catastrophe but to mark the bizarre nature of what had happened. The government's official statement explained that a rare meteorological phenomenon had caused lightning to rain down on the planes in flight, frying their systems and sending them spiraling to the ground.
But Oliver never bought that explanation. He had worked for the government long enough to know when a story didn't add up, when the details were too clean, too convenient. Five planes? Struck down in the same way, on the same night? It didn't sit right with him, but the truth, whatever it was, had been buried—just like Natalie and the thousands of other victims.
Over time, the world moved on. Memorials were held. Investigations were conducted. Lawsuits were filed. And then, one by one, the headlines began to fade, replaced by newer, fresher disasters. The grief, raw and unbearable at first, softened into distant sorrow for most. People healed, rebuilt their lives, found ways to forget. But for Oliver, there was no forgetting.
He had never been able to put that night behind him.
Oliver stood by the window of his modest Brooklyn apartment, his reflection blending with the dark city skyline. The man staring back at him was a shadow of his former self. At 53, his once thick, dark hair had thinned and turned a shade of grey. His strong jawline was now marked by the deep lines of age and grief, his face weathered by years of loss and sleepless nights. His body, once athletic and full of vigor, had grown leaner, his broad shoulders slumped slightly, carrying the weight of a decade's worth of sorrow. Yet, despite the wear and tear of time, his eyes remained sharp, still reflecting the same sharp intelligence that had made him one of the best agents in his day.
But those eyes also held something else now—an emptiness that hadn't been there before Natalie's death. There was a void within him, one that nothing had been able to fill. He had thrown himself into his work, tried to focus on raising Sophia, but the hole left by Natalie's sudden and violent death never stopped gnawing at him.
Sophia.
She had been his only lifeline through the years. And now, at 21, she had become a stunning young woman, the very image of her mother—though Oliver could see pieces of himself in her too. She had grown up to be fiercely independent, intelligent, and with a kind of quiet strength that sometimes caught him off guard.
The sound of soft footsteps broke his thoughts, and he turned to see Sophia walk into the room, her presence commanding attention effortlessly. She was tall, standing at 5'7", with the same rich, dark hair as her mother, cascading down her back in waves that shimmered under the dim apartment light. Her almond-shaped eyes, deep and expressive, caught his, and he was reminded once again of how much she had grown in the years since that terrible night. Her once-childlike face had matured into the sharp, striking beauty of adulthood, with high cheekbones and a soft caramel complexion that glowed even in the fading light of the room.
She was beautiful, yes—everyone could see that. Her curvaceous hourglass figure often turned heads when they went out, drawing admiration and attention from passersby. But it wasn't just her appearance that made her magnetic. It was the quiet intensity in her eyes, the way she carried herself with purpose and grace, never letting her beauty define her. Sophia had always been her own person, a trait she inherited from Natalie, but her sharp wit and intelligence were all Oliver's doing.
"Dad?" Her voice was soft, but it brought him back to the present.
Oliver blinked, shaking off the memories that had clouded his mind. He gave her a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was something.
"Just thinking," he said, his voice rougher than it used to be. He motioned to the skyline. "You're all set for the job hunt tomorrow?"
Sophia sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. "As ready as I'll ever be. I've sent out applications to almost every firm I could think of. Now, it's just the waiting game."
She had just finished school with honors, a degree in marketing, and was now looking for her first big opportunity in the city. But the market was tough, and despite her brilliance, finding the right job was proving to be more difficult than expected.
"You'll find something," Oliver said, his voice steady with conviction. "You're brilliant. They'd be lucky to have you."
Sophia smiled, but it didn't quite hide the uncertainty in her eyes. "Yeah, I hope so." She pushed herself off the doorframe and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You don't need to worry about me so much, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore."
He chuckled softly, but the sound was hollow. "You'll always be my kid, no matter how old you get."
They stood in silence for a moment, looking out over the city, the weight of the past hanging between them. They rarely talked about that night anymore. It had become an unspoken agreement between them—not to dredge up the pain, not to relive the horror. But the memory of Natalie's death was always there, lingering in the background, shaping their lives in ways they couldn't always see.
"Do you ever think about it?" Sophia's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make Oliver's heart clench.
He didn't need to ask what she meant. He knew.
"All the time," he admitted, his eyes distant as he stared into the horizon. "Every day."
She nodded, as if she had expected the answer. "I try not to, but… sometimes I can't help it. It's like… how could something like that just happen?"
Oliver felt the familiar surge of anger rise in his chest, the frustration that had built up over the years. He had asked himself the same question a thousand times. How could the government claim it was just an accident, just some freak lightning storm, when everything about that night felt wrong?
The official story had never made sense to him. And though the world had moved on, Oliver couldn't. Somewhere deep down, he knew the truth was still out there, hidden behind layers of lies and secrecy. But after so many years, he had given up trying to uncover it. What good would it do now? Natalie was gone, and no amount of answers would bring her back.
Still, the questions lingered.
Sophia turned to him, her almond eyes searching his face. "Do you think there's more to it? Like… maybe it wasn't just some storm?"
Oliver's jaw clenched. He didn't want to burden her with his suspicions, didn't want to drag her into the dark world he had once been a part of. But she was no longer a little girl, and she deserved the truth.
"I don't know, Soph," he said quietly, meeting her gaze. "I really don't know."
But deep down, he feared he did.