Not of physical danger.
Of recognition.
Charles clearly inspired it.
Sophie tried again.
“Mr. Whitmore, perhaps I can bring a towel for the baby and we can—”
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“The passenger moves.”
Amara stared at him.
“You’re removing an infant because you poured water on her?”
Charles’s face hardened.
“You’re twisting this.”
Amara almost smiled.
“How?”
“You allowed the child to scream.”
“For approximately fifteen seconds.”
“Long enough.”
Amara looked toward Sophie.
“Please bring me a towel.”
Sophie nodded immediately.
Charles snapped:
“Stay where you are.”
Sophie froze.
Amara watched her.
That one command told Amara almost as much as the water did.
The airline had a problem.
Maybe larger than she thought.
Charles leaned toward Amara.
“I don’t know who you think you are.”
Amara’s eyes remained steady.
“No.”
“You don’t.”
He pointed down the aisle.
“Move.”
Amara did not.
Charles laughed.
Then gestured toward Sophie.
“Call security at the gate on arrival.”
Sophie whispered:
“We’re airborne.”
“I know where we are.”
“I mean…”
She stopped.
Charles took one step closer.
“Do it.”
Amara shifted Maya slightly.
The baby had stopped screaming.
Now she was hiccupping against her mother’s shoulder, confused and wet.
Amara’s anger became quieter.
More dangerous.
“Scan my boarding pass.”
Charles looked at her.
“What?”
“My boarding pass.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You’re telling me to leave my seat.”
“Yes.”
“Then verify the reservation.”
Charles stared.
Amara continued.
“That is your company procedure.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
“How would you know?”
Amara did not answer.
Charles smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“People like you always think knowing a few rules means you understand the operation.”
Sophie’s eyes widened.
Several passengers reacted.
Amara did not.
She had heard versions of that sentence before.
Not always about race.
Sometimes about gender.
Sometimes age.
Sometimes class.
Sometimes authority.
The words changed.
The structure remained.
People like you.
Amara looked at him.
“Scan the ticket.”
Charles scoffed.
“You’re not giving orders in my cabin.”
Amara raised one eyebrow.
“Your cabin?”
He answered without hesitation.
“Yes.”
That was when she knew.
Not suspected.
Knew.
The company’s cultural problem was not theoretical.
Charles believed it.
Ownership of space.
Ownership of employees.
Ownership of the customer experience.
First class as private territory.
He looked at Sophie.
“Get the tablet.”
She did.
Slowly.
Amara noticed another passenger recording openly now.
Charles did not care.
He was still certain.
That certainty interested her.
Sophie activated the crew tablet.
Charles held out his hand.
She passed it over.
“Name?”
He asked Amara.
“It’s on the pass.”
“Say it.”
“Amara Carter.”
Charles entered something.