Lauren’s nostrils flared. “Dr. Patel, please remain seated.”
Dr. Patel gave a short, humorless breath. “You remember my name today.”
Something shifted in the cabin.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
But the invisible line separating observers from participants began to disappear.
Naomi looked at Captain Grant. “Are the doors still open?”
“Yes.”
“Keep them open.”
Victor’s expression sharpened. “We have a departure slot.”
“We no longer have a departure.”
A pulse moved in Victor’s cheek. “You cannot ground an aircraft full of passengers over a seating dispute.”
Naomi slid the credential onto the table beside her.
“This is not a seating dispute.”
Her voice never rose.
“It is a question of whether a crew member altered a passenger manifest, ignored an ownership briefing, threatened a ticketed passenger, and declared in front of witnesses that she personally decides who belongs in the premium cabin.”
Lauren looked around as though searching for a friendly face.
She found several people avoiding her eyes.
Then she found Victor.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
Naomi caught that, too.
“Captain,” she said, “please retrieve the original manifest.”
Lauren reached for the tablet. “There’s no need. I can explain.”
Captain Grant moved it beyond her hand.
The young woman beside the Raymonds stood suddenly.
Her knee struck the edge of the table. A glass toppled, spilling champagne across the polished wood and onto the carpet.
She barely noticed.
“Celia,” Victor said.
There was a warning inside her name.
Celia Raymond clutched her phone with both hands. She was pale enough that the freckles across her nose stood out sharply, but she did not sit down.
“The original manifest won’t be enough,” she said.
Victor went still.
Mrs. Raymond turned toward her daughter. “What are you talking about?”
Celia looked at Naomi.
Then at Lauren.
Her thumb trembled over the screen.
“I recorded what happened in the galley.”
Lauren’s mouth tightened. “Recording crew without consent violates—”
“Stop,” Captain Grant said.
The single word cracked through the cabin.
Celia drew a shallow breath. “I started recording before we boarded. I thought I was documenting something else.”
Victor took a step toward her.
“Give me the phone.”
Celia backed into the armrest.
Her mother rose between them.
It happened instinctively, almost before Mrs. Raymond seemed to understand she had done it.
“No,” she said.
Victor looked at his wife as if she had spoken in a language he did not recognize.
Celia’s eyes filled, but she kept the phone raised.
“At the terminal,” she said, “Dad told Lauren that Ms. Williams had to be provoked before takeoff. He said if the flight missed the transaction deadline, the acquisition could collapse.”
No one moved.
Outside the windows, a baggage cart rolled past in the bright morning sun. Its warning light turned soundlessly, throwing brief amber flashes across the cabin ceiling.
Naomi’s fingers settled against the back of her seat.
That was the only sign the words had struck her.
Victor’s voice lowered. “You have no idea what you heard.”
“I heard you promise her a position overseeing cabin services.”
Lauren turned toward him.
The betrayal on her face arrived before she could hide it.
Celia continued, each word unsteady but clear. “You told her to move Ms. Williams publicly. You said she would either lose control or ground the plane. Either way, you’d have what you needed.”
Mrs. Raymond stared at her husband.
“What transaction deadline?”
Victor’s eyes remained on the phone.