At dinner, my sister threw water on my pregnant wife’s dress and sneered, “Don’t sit there, that’s my spot.” My mom laughed, “Pregnancy makes you clumsy,” while my dad sent her to eat in the kitchen. My wife silently grabbed her coat. I grabbed my keys—and called the travel concierge. “Cancel the first-class flights and VIP Mediterranean cruise resort.” On Monday, my family arrived at the airport with designer luggage. Then security escorted them out.

I looked at the screen. It was a FaceTime call originating from an unknown, generic email address. However, beneath the email, the location data indicated the device was connected to the ‘JFK Free Public Wi-Fi’ network.

I smiled. The trap had officially sprung shut.

 

I clicked ‘Accept’.

 

My father’s face filled the high-definition screen. He looked absolutely horrific. He was flushed a deep, violent, sweaty red. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were wide with a frantic, feral panic I had never seen before.

In the background, behind his shoulder, the elite, velvet-roped First-Class international check-in lounge was a scene of absolute, spectacular, humiliating chaos.