She stood at the aircraft door holding a clipboard like a scepter. Her hair was impeccable. Her uniform was crisp enough to photograph well. Her smile carried the high polish of frequent practice.
“Zariah,” she said, voice dripping synthetic warmth. “Wow. Hey.”
I paused. “Amelia.”
Her eyes dropped to my boarding pass. Her smile constricted momentarily, then reassembled itself.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked, already stepping aside with the presumption of authority.
I followed just far enough to maintain courtesy, not far enough to be cornered.
She tapped her clipboard with one manicured nail. “There’s been a change. Operational adjustment. We have a diamond-tier passenger on standby, and corporate protocol requires we accommodate them.”
I studied her expression. “My ticket confirms seat 2A.”
“I understand,” she said, head tilting in a pantomime of sympathy. “But loyalty status takes precedence over confirmed bookings.”
The claim was already suspicious. Airlines don’t casually displace confirmed first-class passengers. Not without compensation, not without operational justification that survives scrutiny.
