Chapter 1 - The Interception
The sharp crack of flesh hitting flesh never happened.
Before her manicured hand could connect with my jaw, a large, calloused hand shot out from row 4 and clamped around Mrs. Belmont’s wrist like a steel vice.
"That's enough," a deep, commanding voice barked.
An Air Marshal, having shed his civilian cover, stepped fully into the aisle. He flashed his federal badge with his free hand. Mrs. Belmont gasped, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and immediate, calculated victimhood.
"Oh, thank God you're here!" she cried out, her voice pitching an octave higher into a faux-hysterical sob. She tried to yank her arm back, but the Marshal held firm. "This man... this thug attacked me! He threatened my life! Arrest him!"
I didn't move. I didn't raise my voice. I simply reached into my breast pocket, pulled out a monogrammed silk handkerchief, and dabbed the iced espresso off my ruined Armani lapel.
"Sir, are you alright?" the Marshal asked, keeping his eyes locked on the struggling woman.
"I am perfectly fine, Officer," I replied, my voice smooth and dangerously calm. "Though I cannot say the same for these documents."
The flight attendant, a young woman named Sarah whose name tag I had noted earlier, stepped forward, her voice trembling but resolute. "Marshal, the gentleman did nothing wrong. Mrs. Belmont poured her drink on him unprovoked, yelled racial slurs, and then attempted to strike him. I saw the whole thing. Several passengers recorded it."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the first-class cabin. To my left, a prominent venture capitalist I recognized from Forbes was holding up his smartphone, the recording light blinking red.
Mrs. Belmont’s face drained of color, then flooded with an ugly, mottled red. "You're all lying! Do you know who my husband is? Richard Belmont! He will have all of your jobs! He owns this airline's parent company!"
The Marshal finally released her wrist, forcefully pointing to her seat across the aisle. "Sit down, shut your mouth, and do not move a muscle until this plane touches down. If you speak to this gentleman again, I will restrain you."
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She collapsed into her plush leather seat, chest heaving, glaring at me with a venomous hatred. "You're dead," she mouthed silently.
I just smiled. A slow, cold smirk. She thought Richard Belmont was her shield. She had absolutely no idea that Richard Belmont was currently waiting in my boardroom, begging for a lifeline that I had just decided to cut.
