Victoria scoffed. “Honestly, airlines need standards. First class should look like first class, not like—” She flicked her hand dismissively, eyes sweeping Naomi’s skin, hair, coat. “Well, this—” The venom was unmistakable. Racist. Thick with hierarchy.
A young flight attendant stiffened, concern flashing across her face. The woman in 1A had done nothing except sit quietly. But Victoria Langford—45, white, wealthy, a luxury brand CEO used to command—moved through the cabin like she owned the airline, the airport, the world.
Naomi tightened her grip on the leather folder holding her mentor’s Christmas card. Outside, snow pressed against the windows, muting everything except Victoria’s voice.
“You know what?” Victoria sneered, leaning in. “I can already guess what happened. They felt sorry for her and upgraded her.”
She snapped her fingers toward the cockpit. Captain Marcus Redden, 48, white, arrogant, known for bending rules, stepped out. He carried the smug ease of a man who’d spent decades turning authority into a weapon. His eyes landed on Naomi with immediate disdain.
“Oh,” he muttered loudly. “That explains why 1A looked wrong.”
Redden didn’t hesitate. He strode toward Naomi as if confronting an intruder.
“You,” he barked. “Stand up. Wrong seat.”
