The flight attendant grabbed her arm so roughly that Victoria almost lost her balance in the aisle. First-class passengers watched with curiosity and slight disdain as the young woman, dressed in a simple gray sweatshirt, was literally dragged toward the exit. The captain, an arrogant man in his forties with his hair perfectly slicked back, stood by the steps, looking at her coldly. “People like you have no place here,” he muttered.
“You created a threat to flight safety.” Victoria wanted to say something, to explain that there had been a misunderstanding, but the words caught in her throat. Her bag was thrown behind her. Its contents scattered across the concrete runway at Nisa Airport. The steps were withdrawn. The plane door slammed shut, and there she was, alone under the scorching Mediterranean sun, watching as her own plane, one of her airline’s flagship aircraft, gained speed and lifted into the sky.
To understand how Victoria Holmes arrived at this humiliating situation, we need to go back three weeks to the luxurious office on the top floor of a glass skyscraper in London, which offered a breathtaking view of the Thames and the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Victoria stood by the panoramic window, holding a cup of coffee, gazing at the city awakening to the first rays of sunlight.
