"You don't have a connection in Minneapolis," I said, stepping half an inch closer to the edge of row one, my voice dropping into that steady, quiet gear you use when a machine gear is stripped and you need to keep everyone from losing their hands. "Apex Ground Logistics doesn't operate in Minnesota. You work passenger ground operations right here at Hartsfield-Jackson. That override code on the tablet—code EO-44—is the internal station manager pass used to bump unassigned deadhead personnel into premium seats when a flight closes."
Sarah’s breath hitched. She looked at Karen, then back at me, the handheld tablet still pressed against her stomach like a shield.
"How do you know that code?" Sarah whispered.
"Because my father spent thirty-two years repairing the baggage conveyor belts and hydronic loaders under concourse T for this exact airline," I said. "He knew every crew code, every override protocol, and every way a dishonest supervisor cuts corners when they want to do a favor for a friend on a full flight. He taught me the system before he died with grease under his fingernails."
I pointed directly at the empty space between Karen’s feet and the bulkhead.
"You took his ticket," I said, looking Karen dead in the eyes as she finally turned her head to face me. Her skin had gone completely pale, the arrogant dismissiveness wiped away, replaced by the hollow, trapped stare of someone whose private shortcut has just been laid out under fluorescent light. "You flagged his name as a deceased surrender so the seat would drop back into open station inventory ten minutes before boarding, and you handed yourself the seat."
The forward cockpit door clicked open behind us. The captain, a grey-haired man with four gold stripes on his shoulders and reading glasses perched on his forehead, leaned out into the galley, looking at the two of us standing frozen in the aisle.
"Sarah," the captain said, his eyes sweeping from my work jacket to Karen’s badge to the death certificate in my hand. "Tower just gave us our clearance window. Why isn't this cabin secured?"
CHAPTER 2 CONTINUED
Sarah took a half-step toward him, angling her body so the tablet screen stayed pressed flush against her navy uniform skirt. "Captain, we have a revenue reconciliation conflict. The passenger in 1A was processed under an administrative standby override that generated an error during final boarding count. The gate agent released the inventory to station priority, but Mr. Vance here refuses to accept his reassignment to row twenty-seven. He became argumentative in the aisle and physically obstructed the cabin pathway."
"I knocked her tablet when she grabbed my arm," I said, addressing Captain Miller directly. I kept my hands open at waist height, flat against the fabric of my work pants. "I did not raise my voice, and I did not threaten crew. I showed her my boarding pass, issued at counter four in Savannah yesterday at 4:10 PM. The seat was purchased using my father's thirty-year bereavement benefit."
I held out the cardstock pass. The perforations were intact, the magnetic stripe unscratched, the seat assignment printed in dark, clear ink: 1A - VANCE/MARCUS.
Miller didn't take the ticket immediately. Instead, he looked past my shoulder at the passenger in 2B, the corporate attorney who had pulled out his gold pen.
"Counselor," Miller said, his tone recognizing a frequent flyer on the Atlanta-to-Chicago corporate commuter run. "Did you observe a physical altercation?"
The attorney in 2B leaned out slightly into the aisle, resting his forearm on the upholstered armrest. "Captain, your lead attendant seized this young man’s arm by the sleeve and attempted to drag him toward coach while he was presenting his document. The tablet fell because her elbow struck the beverage frame during the struggle. Furthermore, the screen displayed an internal station override code before she picked it up. If you close that door and file an unruly passenger incident report against him under these conditions, my firm will provide him full representation before your operations safety board before nightfall."
Sarah’s face drained of color. "Mr. Harrison, please—"
"That’s enough, Sarah," Miller said. The captain reached out his right hand, his palm open. "Give me the manifest unit."
Sarah hesitatingly peeled the device away from her stomach. Her fingers left damp smudges on the casing as she passed it over. Miller took the tablet, adjusted his reading glasses with one finger, and swiped up on the active departure screen.