What they hadn’t considered was that their own messages would document precisely what had happened.
My name is Rachel Dawson, and I was attending a cybersecurity conference in Minneapolis when Emma called at 5:42 on Thursday evening.
She was scheduled to travel from Denver to San Diego with my parents, my younger brother Scott, his wife Lauren, and their two daughters. I had covered Emma’s flights, hotel, meals, and activities after my parents assured me she would be included in their family vacation.
“Sweetheart, where are you?” I asked.
“I’m sitting near the gate. Aunt Lauren said somebody would come back, but everybody got on the plane.”
I tightened my grip around the phone.
“Are you alone?”
Emma began crying even harder.
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