Forty-five minutes into the flight, Captain Derek Greer did something he almost never did: he left the cockpit. Not because of turbulence, not because of a mechanical issue. He left because Victor Ashland was the kind of man Greer wanted to be seen with, and the cockpit didn't have an audience.
Greer squeezed his way down the first-class aisle, his belly brushing the armrest of seat 2C. He stopped at 1A and planted himself like a man at a cocktail party, one hand on the overhead bin, the other gesturing as he talked.
"So, Mr. Ashland, what brings you to Atlanta?"
Ashland swirled his second glass of champagne. "Business. Big one, actually. I'm closing a deal with Fletcher Aeronautics. You heard of them?"
Greer's eyebrows lifted. "Fletcher Aeronautics? Of course I have. Biggest private fleet on the East Coast. Military contracts, corporate charters—they're everywhere."
"Everywhere," Ashland leaned back. "And I'm about to become their exclusive real estate partner. Every new hangar, every terminal lounge, every VIP suite—my company builds it."
"That's massive. Who's the CEO? I've never seen them in the press."
"Nobody has. Some recluse. Never does interviews, never shows up at industry events, just runs the company from the shadows." Ashland chuckled. "Honestly, probably some trust fund baby who inherited the whole thing from daddy. You know how it is."
Greer laughed, a big, belly-shaking laugh. "Oh, I know exactly how it is. These days, anyone with a rich father thinks they're a CEO."
"Exactly. But their money spends the same, right?"
Ashland raised his glass. Greer pretended to clink it with an invisible drink. They laughed again, louder this time. Then Greer tilted his head toward the back of the plane and lowered his voice, but not low enough.
"Speaking of people who don't belong, you should have seen the one I had to remove from your seat earlier. Some Black woman with a canvas bag trying to sit in 1A." He snorted. "I told security to handle it. Took about thirty seconds."
Ashland smirked. "In first class? What is this, a bus?"
"That's what I said. My plane, my standards." Greer patted the armrest of 1A. "This seat's for people who earned it."