Dalon's internal radar instantly pinged. Zenith Innovations.
The pieces fell into place with absolute, terrifying clarity. Dalon knew exactly who she was; he had read her personnel file three days ago: Bobbi Scott, SVP of Global Strategy. The executive notes had described her as "effective, but abrasive." It seemed "abrasive" was a generous corporate euphemism for a nightmare.
Dalon leaned back in his leather chair, a slow, cold smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Zenith Innovations, you say? Fascinating."
"Don't you patronize me!" Bobbi shrieked, finally drawing the attention of the lead gate agent, a harried-looking man named Michael, who came rushing over from the podium.
People were openly staring now. The quiet morning atmosphere of Gate B24 had evaporated, replaced by the tense, suffocating energy of a public spectacle. Travelers lowered their newspapers, paused their music, and leaned in, their eyes darting between the furious woman in the cream suit and the remarkably composed man in the gray hoodie.
"Is there a problem here, ma'am?" Michael, the gate agent, asked breathlessly as he arrived. He glanced nervously at Bobbi's mountain of luggage.
"Yes, there is a massive problem!" Bobbi pivoted sharply, aiming her fury at Michael. "This employee of yours is refusing to assist me with my bags! Worse, he has been incredibly insolent, lying to my face, and refusing to do the job he is paid for! I want his name, I want his supervisor down here immediately, and I want him fired before my flight takes off!"
Michael blinked, thoroughly confused. He looked at Dalon, trying to place him. "Ma'am, I don't know who this gentleman is, but he doesn't work for Delta or the airport authority. He's not wearing a badge or a uniform."
"Oh, don't try to cover for him!" Bobbi snapped, slapping her hand against the handle of her Rimowa trunk. "It is a classic union tactic, protecting lazy workers! Look at him! Does he look like someone flying first class to London? He's clearly off-duty baggage staff loitering in the priority area! I demand you take action!"
Dalon slowly stood up. At 6'2", he towered over Bobbi, but his posture remained relaxed and non-threatening. He looked at Michael with a sympathetic expression.
"It's all right, Michael, isn't it? I apologize you have to deal with this." Dalon reached into his pocket, pulled out his boarding pass, and handed it to the gate agent. "I am indeed a passenger. Seat 1A."
Michael glanced at the thick premium stock of the first-class boarding pass, noting the Diamond Medallion status printed at the top. His eyes widened slightly as he registered the name, though he kept his professional composure.
"Thank you, Mr. Fischer. Everything is in order. We will be calling priority boarding in about ten minutes." He handed the pass back, then turned to Bobbi, his tone hardening. "Ma'am, as I stated, this gentleman is a first-class passenger. Now, if you need assistance with your bags, you need to step back to the main concourse desk. You cannot block the boarding lane."
Bobbi stared at the boarding pass in Dalon's hand, her brain struggling to process the information. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming. In her mind, wealth and status looked like her: tailored suits, diamond watches, aggressive entitlement. It did not look like a Black man in a hoodie quietly reading on a tablet.
Instead of feeling embarrassed by her colossal mistake, she felt a surge of defensive rage. He had tricked her. He was purposely dressing like a vagrant to embarrass people of actual standing.
"Well," Bobbi said, her voice dripping with venom, desperate to salvage her pride, "it seems the airline standards for first class have severely plummeted. They'll let anyone sit up front these days—probably used miles from some low-level credit card."
She snatched up her garment bag, her face a mask of furious indignation. "Just stay out of my way," she sneered at Dalon. "Some of us actually have important corporate business to attend to in London."
"I'll be sure to remember that," Dalon replied smoothly, his voice devoid of anger, but heavy with implication. "Have a wonderful flight, Ms. Scott."
Bobbi froze. She hadn't given him her name; she had only mentioned Zenith Innovations. A flicker of unease finally penetrated her armor of arrogance, but she quickly dismissed it. He probably just saw her luggage tags. She yanked her trunk forward and stormed toward the priority line, positioning herself at the absolute front, determined to be the first person on the aircraft.
Dalon watched her go, shaking his head slightly. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and drafted a quick encrypted message to Richard Caldwell, Chairman of the Board at Vanguard Holdings:
Richard, I'm at the gate. Had an interesting run-in with the Zenith SVP of Strategy, Bobbi Scott. We need to discuss her position immediately upon arrival. She lacks the temperament and judgment required for the Vanguard transition. See you on board.
He hit send and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Vanguard Holdings was ruthless about corporate culture. They acquired companies not just for their assets, but for their synergy. An executive who treated supposed subordinates like garbage in public was a massive liability. If this was how Bobbi Scott treated a stranger in an airport, Dalon could only imagine the toxic environment she fostered among her junior staff at Zenith.
Ten minutes later, the overhead speakers chimed: "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are now inviting our first-class and Diamond Medallion members to board Flight 408 to London Heathrow."
Bobbi practically shoved her way past the scanner, demanding Michael manually carry her oversized tote down the jet bridge. Dalon waited patiently, allowing a few other passengers to go ahead of him before he quietly scanned his pass and walked down the sloping tunnel toward the aircraft. The heavy, mechanical smell of jet fuel and the soft, welcoming lighting of the Boeing 777 cabin greeted him.
This flight was about to be an incredibly educational experience.
The first-class cabin of the Boeing 777 was an oasis of luxury, featuring private suites with sliding doors, mood lighting, and seats that converted into fully flat beds. It was designed to insulate high-paying travelers from the stresses of the outside world. But as Dalon stepped into the cabin, he could already hear Bobbi's shrill voice echoing off the curved ceiling.