Her name is Heather Wilson, senior attendant. I have witnesses. I have video. Every second of it.
We need to talk about Sky Nation's future, Derek. All of it. And I mean all of it."
She hung up. The cabin had gone completely still.
Dawson stared at her. His partner stopped writing. Even Mr. Douglas, a man who clearly worked in corporate America, had his mouth slightly open. Because they'd all heard the name, Derek.
Derek Collins, the CEO of Sky Nation Airlines. And this woman in the faded hoodie had just called him by his first name, the way you call someone who works for you. Dorothy Adams, the purser, appeared through the curtain. Her face was white.
She'd been listening. She walked past Dawson, past the passengers, straight to Heather. She grabbed Heather's arm, pulled her close, and whispered, but in the silence of that cabin, everyone heard it. "Do you have any idea who that is?
That's Briana Ingram. She owns 14% of this airline. She is the single largest individual shareholder of Sky Nation. The CEO reports to her."
The blood drained from Heather's face, not slowly, all at once, like someone pulled a plug.
Her legs buckled. She grabbed the headrest of 1B to steady herself. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, like a fish pulled out of water. ""I...
I didn't know."" Briana looked at her, calm, still, the same woman who'd been kneeling on the floor of a community center in Detroit 3 hours ago taping a banner with a 9-year-old girl. "That's exactly the problem, Heather. You didn't need to know who I am to treat me like a human being."
Officer Dawson took Heather by the arm. Not rough, not gentle, either.
Just firm, the way you handle someone who's already lost and doesn't know it yet. "Ma'am, let's go." Heather's legs moved, but barely. She stumbled down the aisle like a woman walking through water. Her pressed uniform, the one she'd ironed that morning with military precision, was wrinkled now.