Chapter 7 - The Boardroom at the Terminal
Brianna’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes widening with immediate delight.
"Marcus!" she gasped, instantly smoothing down her uniform skirt and flashing her most dazzling, sycophantic smile. "Oh my god, Mark, look! It's Marcus Vance! He must be here to inspect our on-time arrival metrics! My uncle told me he might drop by Boston this week!"
She stepped boldly across the threshold of the aircraft into the jetway, holding out her manicured hand.
"Mr. Vance! What an honor! I'm Brianna Reynolds—my uncle is Thomas Reynolds down at headquarters? I was just handling a very difficult passenger situation on Flight 418, but we handled it with complete—"
Marcus Vance didn't even look at her hand.
He didn't even slow down.
With a look of pure, unadulterated terror, the Vice President of Operations shoved past Brianna so forcefully she stumbled against the corrugated wall of the jet bridge, catching herself on the handrail.
"Get out of the way," Marcus hissed, his voice cracking with hysteria.
Brianna stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. Behind Marcus came four high-ranking airport directors, the head of Regional Human Resources, and two armed Port Authority sergeants with brass badges glinting on their chests.
The entire delegation bypassed Brianna, bypassed Mark, and came to an abrupt, military-grade halt directly in front of the tall man with the stained denim jeans and the scuffed duffel bag.
Marcus Vance stopped two feet away. He bowed his head slightly, his trembling hands clasped at his waist, his voice choked with dread.
"Mr. Vance," Marcus stammered, loud enough to echo through the entire jetway and back into the open aircraft door. "Welcome to Boston. Sir... your pants... are you injured? We have an emergency medical team waiting in the private VIP lounge right now."
Silence fell over Gate B14.
It was not an ordinary silence; it was a vacuum, cold and absolute, sucking the air out of the jet bridge.
Behind them in the aircraft doorway, Mark’s jaw hung open so wide his chewing gum dropped out of his mouth and fell onto the carpeted floor.
Brianna pressed her back against the metal wall, her face draining of color until she looked like a corpse. Her eyes darted from Marcus Vance’s bowed head to Caden’s quiet, unmoving silhouette.
*Mr. Vance?*
*Vance?*
The pieces connected in her mind with the subtlety of a runaway freight train.
Vance Global Airways.
The founder. The majority shareholder. The reclusive billionaire who owned sixty-four percent of the voting shares, twenty-eight regional hubs, and every single screw, turbine, and cup of coffee on Flight 418.
"I asked for dry clothes, Marcus," Caden said. His voice was not raised, but the cold authority inside it made every executive in the corridor flinch. "Not an entourage."
"We... we brought emergency attire, sir," Marcus swallowed hard, gesturing frantically to an executive assistant who stepped forward holding a garment bag bearing the seal of an exclusive Italian tailor. "Sir, please... what happened to you? Why are you in coach? What happened to your clothes?"
Caden didn't take the garment bag yet.
He slowly turned his head back toward the open doorway of the aircraft.
His eyes found Brianna.
She was trembling violently. Her knees were knocking against each other, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. She looked down at her hands, then at Caden’s stained jeans, the realization of what she had done crashing down upon her with catastrophic weight.
*I poured hot coffee on him.*
*I laughed at him.*
*I told him he was a nobody.*
Caden’s gaze moved past Brianna and landed on Kylie, who was standing frozen in the rear of the doorway, clutching the cabin logbook to her chest, her eyes wide with sheer, disbelieving amazement.
"Marcus," Caden said, his tone as casual as someone ordering lunch.
"Yes, Mr. Vance!"
"Debriefing room. Terminal B, Executive Conference Suite 4. Five minutes."
Caden pointed a single, unhurried finger toward the plane.
"Bring the purser. Bring the senior flight attendant. And bring the rookie holding the logbook."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Brianna.
May you like
"And make sure Miss Reynolds doesn't touch anything on her way out. She's clumsy with liquids."
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