Arthur didn't move. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen twice.
"No," Arthur said, locking eyes with the flight attendant. "You're going to call the captain right now. And while you're at it, you might want to check who actually owns the controlling shares of this airline."
The air in the first-class suite seemed to freeze. Brenda’s smug look remained fixed on her face, though a faint, barely perceptible twitch appeared near the corner of her left eyebrow. She smoothed her silk neck scarf with deliberate, slow movements, clearly attempting to maintain an air of complete authority.
"Sir," Brenda said, her tone dipping into an icy, rehearsed warning. "Threatening staff and making absurd claims about corporate ownership will not change the fact that you do not belong in this cabin. I am giving you one last chance to turn around and walk back to economy before I signal security to step onboard."
Chloe let out a melodramatic sigh, leaning back into the leather seat while adjusting her sunglasses with two fingers. "Honestly, Brenda, why are you even conversing with this homeless-looking loser? He’s clearly delusional. Look at him—he’s covered in coffee! He’s creating a biohazard in my space. Get him off my flight right now!"
Arthur ignored Chloe entirely. He didn't raise his voice, nor did he make a dramatic scene. Instead, he simply looked at the dark brown coffee stain soaking into his bespoke shirt, felt the sting of the heat against his chest, and brought his phone up to his ear.
He didn't dial a customer service hotline. He dialed a direct line—a unlisted private number that only four people on Earth possessed.
The call connected on the second ring.
"Arthur?" a crisp, professional voice echoed from the speaker, clear enough for Brenda to catch the distinct tone of authority on the other end. "I thought you were already airborne on your way to London. Is everything alright?"
"Julian," Arthur spoke softly, his voice dead calm, carrying the unmistakable coldness of an executive who was about to liquidate an asset. "I am currently sitting—or rather, standing—in the first-class aisle of Flight 402 at JFK."
"Is there a delay with air traffic control?" Julian asked.
"No," Arthur replied, eyes locked onto Brenda's tag. "There is a delay with basic competence. I am currently being threatened with arrest and forced removal from my booked seat, 1A, by a flight attendant named Brenda."
On the other end of the line, absolute silence fell. Julian Vance—the Global Chief Executive Officer of Horizon Airlines—was quiet for three full seconds.
"Say that again?" Julian's voice had lost all its light, corporate warmth.
"A passenger named Chloe Vance has commandeered my seat," Arthur continued, his voice as sharp as a scalpel. "She claims to own the cabin. When I presented my boarding pass, your flight attendant refused to check the manifest, accused me of holding a counterfeit ticket, and threatened me with air marshals. To top it off, coffee was thrown over my suit."
Brenda scoffed loudly, stepping forward to snatch the phone from Arthur’s hand. "Alright, that’s enough of this little play-act! Hand that over—"
"Put her on speaker," Julian commanded from the phone, his voice suddenly thunderous.
Arthur calmly pressed the speakerphone icon and held the device out.
"Listen here, whoever you are," Brenda snapped, stepping right into the phone's microphone. "I don't know what kind of prank you two are playing, but I am the Lead Cabin Senior on this aircraft. This man is harassing a VIP guest, Ms. Chloe Vance, and—"
"Brenda," the voice from the phone growled, cutting her off like a guillotine. "Read the caller ID on the master system or listen to my voice very carefully. This is Julian Vance. Group CEO."
Brenda froze. The color drained from her cheeks so fast it looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her breath hitched in her throat, her lips parting, but no sound came out.
"C... CEO Vance?" Brenda stammered, her official composure crumbling into sheer terror.
"Did you just tell me that Arthur Pendelton—the majority shareholder of Global Sky Holdings, which acquired sixty percent of this airline’s equity three months ago—is holding a counterfeit ticket?" Julian’s voice was vibrating with pure rage. "Did you just threaten the man who literally owns the airplane you are standing in with air marshals?!"
The phone call was loud enough that several nearby passengers in suites 2A and 2B sat up straight, their mouths agape.
Chloe’s hand, which had been reaching into her designer bag for a compact mirror, froze in mid-air. She slowly lowered her Gucci sunglasses, her eyes wide as she looked up at Arthur. "Wait... what? Julian? Uncle Julian?!"
"Chloe?!" Julian’s voice roared through the speaker. "Is that you?! What in God's name are you doing on Flight 402?!"
"I... I was flying to London for Fashion Week!" Chloe stuttered, her previous arrogance completely evaporating, replaced by sudden panic. "I asked the gate manager to upgrade me to 1A! They said it was taken, but I told them I’m your niece, so they gave me the seat pass anyway!"
"You hijacked a seat reserved for the Chairman of the Board?!" Julian yelled. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"
Before Chloe could answer, the cockpit door at the front of the aircraft creaked open. Captain Thomas, a veteran pilot with thirty years of service, walked out toward the cabin, holding a flight tablet. He had just received an emergency priority ping directly from Operations Control.
"Brenda, what’s going on back here? Dispatch just sent an ultra-high priority flag on seat 1A—" Captain Thomas stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the scene: the lead stewardess pale as paper, a young woman cowering in suite 1A, and a man in a coffee-stained wool suit standing with absolute, terrifying calm in the center of the aisle.
Captain Thomas looked at Arthur's face, glanced at his tablet, and instantly recognized the face pinned to the very top of the airline's executive board directory.
"Mr. Pendelton!" Captain Thomas gasped, dropping his tablet onto an empty seat in sheer shock. "Sir! We... we had no idea you were on this manifest under your private holding name!"
"Evidently," Arthur said quietly, lowering his phone.
Julian’s voice came through the speaker one last time. "Captain Thomas! You will hold that aircraft at the gate. I am stepping into my car right now. I will be at Terminal 4 in eight minutes. No one touches Mr. Pendelton, and no one leaves that plane until I arrive!"
The line went dead.
An unbearable, heavy silence descended over the first-class cabin. Brenda stood rooted to the carpet, her trembling hands clutched together, looking at Arthur as if waiting for a execution sentence. Chloe shrank back into the leather seat of 1A, her face flushed red with humiliation and fear as every passenger in the cabin stared directly at her.
Arthur calmly pulled a white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiped a trace of dark coffee from his wrist, and looked down at his watch.