Chapter 6 - Altitude and Altitude Adjustments
Cruising altitude was reached forty-two minutes after takeoff. The "Fasten Seatbelt" sign chimed off with a soft double-tone, and the gentle hum of the Pratt & Whitney engines settled into a steady, hypnotic drone.
In seat 2A, Elise was fast asleep. Her head was tilted slightly against the window frame, her breathing slow and even. The relentless pressure of the past week—the endless conference calls, the hostile negotiations, the suffocating expectations of a multi-billion-dollar empire—had finally given way to absolute physical exhaustion.
Up in the forward galley, however, the atmosphere was thick with post-crisis trauma.
Vanessa Cruz sat on the jumpseat with her tablet open, her fingers flying across the virtual keyboard. Her hands were still shaking slightly. Across from her stood First Officer David Chen, who had been briefed on the incident during the climb.
"You actually threatened to throw the CEO of Meridian Capital off the plane?" David whispered in stunned disbelief, trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the situation. "Vanessa, are you out of your mind? That's not just a VIP. That's the VIP. They literally own sixty percent of our parent company's preferred stock."
"She was wearing a dirty black sweater!" Vanessa hissed defensively, though her voice lacked conviction. "She looked like she rolled out of a dumpster behind a bus station! Who boards a first-class international flight looking like a college dropout?"
"Apparently, billionaires who have worked twenty-hour days for a week straight," David replied dryly, checking his flight management display. "Rule number one of commercial aviation: never judge a passenger by their luggage. Rule number two: never, ever mess with someone whose company can replace your entire fleet before lunch."
Vanessa buried her face in her hands. "I'm going to be fired. Twenty-two years of service, spotless record, perfect safety audits... and I'm going to be cashiered because I let my ego get ahead of my scanner."
"Not necessarily fired," a calm voice said from behind them.
Both crew members jumped. Captain Marcus was standing by the coffee maker, holding a styrofoam cup of black coffee. His expression was grim, but there was a faint glint of pragmatic survivalism in his eyes.
"She’s ruthless in corporate takeovers, but she’s not petty about operational errors," Marcus said quietly, stirring his coffee with a wooden stick. "She doesn't want vengeance; she wants competence. If your report is honest, takes full accountability without making excuses about her clothing, and includes a comprehensive proposal for retraining our customer verification protocols across all domestic hubs... she might let you keep your wings."
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Vanessa looked up, hope flickering in her chest. "You think so?"
"I know so," Marcus said, taking a sip. "She’s a pragmatic investor. She knows firing a veteran purser over a bad day costs more in training and morale than correcting the behavior. But make no mistake—if you try to spin this or blame the passenger, you’ll be cleaning terminal floors in O'Hare by midnight."
