"Keep building, Mr. Vance," the old man said. "The sky needs more stewards like you."
"Safe travels, Professor."
When I stepped out of the cabin door into the jetway, I was met not by curious onlookers, but by a line of senior executives waiting in dark suits. Leading them was Marcus Sterling—no relation to Victoria Sterling, ironically—our Vice President of Global Ground Operations, along with two LAPD officers and a team of corporate legal counsel.
"Mr. Vance," Marcus said, his forehead glistening with nervous sweat. "We received the full briefing from Operations while you were over Colorado. I am deeply, profoundly sorry for—"
"Save the apologies for the boardroom, Marcus," I said, holding up a hand. "Has Port Authority at JFK processed the incident report?"
"Yes, sir," our chief legal officer stepped forward. "Mrs. Victoria Sterling was formally taken into custody upon our return to Gate 12 in New York. She was processed for misdemeanor assault, disorderly conduct, and interfering with an airline crew. Her husband, Richard Sterling, called our legal department three times in a panic while you were in flight."
"And what did Mr. Sterling have to say?"
"He offered to pay for all medical damages, issue a public apology, and make a massive donation to our corporate charity if you agreed not to pull Sterling & Croft's contract or press criminal charges."
I paused at the end of the jetway, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the sprawling lights of Los Angeles.
"Tell Richard Sterling that integrity isn't a line item he can settle with a check," I said flatly. "The contract termination stands. His wife will face the full legal consequences of her actions in a court of law. We do not sell pardons at Apex Airways."
"Understood, sir."
"And what about Flight Attendant Greg?" I asked.
"He is currently held under administrative suspension in New York," Marcus replied. "His union representative is begging for a meeting, but given the viral video footage, their leverage is nonexistent."
"I don't want to destroy his life, Marcus," I said, surprising the executives around me. "He showed appalling prejudice, but destroying a young man's future entirely won't teach him how to be a better human being. Set up a hearing for Thursday. I will attend personally."
Three days later, inside the glass-walled executive conference room on the 50th floor of Apex Tower in downtown Manhattan, the air was heavy with anticipation.
I sat at the head of the mahogany table. I was no longer wearing the faded hoodie and scuffed sneakers; I wore a crisp charcoal suit, a dark silk tie, and a tailored white shirt that concealed the bandage on my chest.
Across from me sat Greg.
The arrogant, smirk-wearing flight attendant from Flight 247 was gone. In his place was a terrified, hollow-eyed twenty-four-year-old man in a cheap suit, sitting beside his union representative, a sharp woman named Elena Vance (no relation).
Greg couldn't even look me in the eye. His hands trembled on the table.
"Mr. Vance," Elena began, opening her folder. "We are not here to defend Greg's behavior on Flight 247. The video evidence is indisputable, and his actions were a flagrant violation of Apex Airways' core code of conduct. We are here merely to request leniency regarding his blacklisting from the aviation industry."