"I think there's been a mistake with your booking, ma'am. A serious mistake. And I'm going to do everyone in this cabin a favor and fix it."
Briana's chest rose and fell, slow and controlled, but her hands, for the first time, were shaking. Not from fear, but from something deeper.
"Pick up my things."
"Excuse me?"
"I said pick up my things, right now."
"I don't take orders from passengers who—"
"From passengers who what?" Briana's voice cut through the cabin. "Finish that sentence." Heather's neck flushed red. She opened her mouth. That's when Janice Tate stood up.
"That's enough." Janice's voice was the kind that stopped rooms. 31 years of live television had built that voice, steady, clear, and impossible to ignore. "I've been sitting here watching you target this woman for the past 45 minutes. She has a valid ticket.
She hasn't raised her voice once. She hasn't threatened anyone. And you" Janice pointed a finger at Heather. "You dumped her personal belongings on the floor like trash in front of everyone."
Heather turned. The fake smile came back, but cracked around the edges. "Ma'am, this is a crew matter. I'd appreciate it if you—"
"It stopped being a crew matter when you made it a public humiliation."
Janice reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, held it up. The red recording dot blinked. And I've been filming for the last 10 minutes. Heather's smile vanished. "Put that phone away."