"The man you just threw off the plane," Rick said, enunciating every syllable, "was Desmond Hayes. He is the founder of Hayes Capital. He physically owns the airplane you are sitting in, Mitchell. He owns 60% of our long-haul fleet. And because you decided to play lapdog to an entitled brat, Hayes just canceled our leases. Our entire international network is grounded. We are bleeding millions of dollars a minute, and our stock is going to crater at the opening bell."
Mitchell felt a cold sweat break out across his neck. The cabin walls suddenly felt like they were closing in.
He remembered the quiet, impeccably calm Black man in the gray sweater. He remembered the man's warning: If I walk off this plane, it will not fly tonight.
It hadn't been a threat. It had been a promise.
"Sir, I... I didn't know," Mitchell stammered, his career flashing before his eyes.
"You didn't do your job!" Halloway screamed. "You didn't check the manifest. You profiled him. Now listen to me very carefully. You are going to walk back into that cabin. You are going to tell Preston Montgomery to get off my airplane. Then you are going to go into the terminal, get on your knees if you have to, and beg Mr. Hayes to come back. Do you understand me?"
The first-class cabin of Flight 88 was blissfully quiet.
Preston Montgomery was stretched out in Suite 1A, the stolen kingdom he believed was his birthright. He had changed into the airline's complimentary sleeper suit, his vicuña jacket carefully hung in the personal closet.
He was swirling his second glass of Dom Pérignon, drafting a complaint email to Global Airways customer service on his phone, demanding thousands of frequent flyer miles for the stress he had endured.
The heavy footsteps stomping down the aisle interrupted his typing.
Captain Mitchell emerged from the galley, but he no longer possessed the authoritative, commanding aura of a pilot in charge. He looked pale, sickly, and vibrating with a mixture of terror and fury. Richard the purser trailed nervously behind him.
Preston sighed dramatically. "Captain, what is the holdup? We should have been wheels up 20 minutes ago. I have a very important merger to close in London."
"We are not going to London, Mr. Montgomery," Captain Mitchell said.
His voice was tight, struggling to maintain a professional baseline.
"In fact, this aircraft is not going anywhere."
Preston lowered his phone, his brow furrowing in irritation. "Excuse me? What do you mean, we aren't going anywhere? Did you find a mechanical issue? Put us on another plane. I am a Chairman's Club member."
"There is no other plane," Mitchell replied, stepping closer to the suite.