Chapter 3 - The Price of Arrogance
Richard Bennett did not walk off Flight 212; he was escorted off like a shoplifter caught with stolen goods in an upscale boutique.
The two Port Authority officers didn't rough him up, but their heavy hands remained inches from his elbows, their presence an unmistakable wall of public humiliation. As Richard was marched backward down the carpeted aisle, every single head in first class turned to watch. Smartphone cameras were already flashing discreetly beneath magazine covers and armrests.
“You can’t do this!” Richard hissed under his breath, sweating profusely through his two-thousand-dollar tailored shirt as they reached the aircraft door. “This is breach of contract! I have an emergency shareholder acquisition dinner in Mayfair tomorrow at noon! Millions of dollars are contingent on me being on this flight!”
“Your ticket has been unilaterally revoked under the airline’s passenger code of conduct, Mr. Bennett,” Henderson replied flatly, handing him a carbon-copy cancellation voucher. “Your checked baggage is currently being pulled from the forward cargo hold. You are barred from re-entering this terminal.”
When the heavy blast-resistant door of the jet bridge clicked shut behind him, Richard whirled on his heel, his face contorted in frantic rage. He pulled out his gold-plated smartphone, his hands shaking so violently he mistyped his passcode twice.
He dialed his chief legal officer, Arthur Vance.
“Arthur! Wake up the litigation team!” Richard screamed into the microphone, marching up the fluorescent-lit corridor of Terminal 4 while passing travelers stared at him in disgust. “I want an emergency federal injunction against Horizon Airways! They dragged me off a trans-Atlantic flight over an administrative seating dispute! Some bratty teenager with Marcus Coleman’s last name set me up!”
There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end of the line.
“Arthur? Did you hear me?” Richard snapped. “I want emergency filings in the Southern District of New York before the markets open!”
“Richard...” Arthur’s voice sounded hollowed out, as if he had just witnessed an airplane crash in slow motion. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m standing in the middle of Terminal 4! Get the corporate jet prepped at Teterboro! If Horizon won’t fly me, we’ll take the Gulfstream!”
“The Gulfstream is grounded, Richard,” Arthur whispered.
Richard stopped dead in his tracks beside a departure monitor. “What did you just say?”
“Ten minutes ago, an emergency operational memorandum came down from Coleman Aviation Infrastructure,” Arthur said, his voice cracking with sheer panic. “They own the ground leasing rights at Teterboro, Westchester, and Farnborough. They just terminated our corporate hangar lease citing character and ethics violations under Section 14 of our facility covenant. But Richard... that’s not the catastrophe.”
A cold droplet of sweat rolled down Richard’s nose, dripping onto his silk tie. “What is the catastrophe, Arthur?”
“The European syndication deal. Marcus Coleman personally called the governing board of Barclays and Deutsche Bank five minutes ago. He informed them that Coleman Aerospace is pulling its thirty-percent risk guarantee on our acquisition vehicle because our leadership exhibits ‘erratic, unvetted, and reckless public hostility.’”
Richard’s knees buckled. He had to reach out and brace his palm against the cold glass of the terminal window to keep from falling. Through the double-paned window, down on the rain-slicked tarmac of Gate B22, he could see Flight 212. The ground crew was pulling away the heavy yellow chocks. The jet bridge was retracting smoothly into its housing.
“Arthur... that syndicate represents sixty percent of our capital liquidity,” Richard wheezed, his chest tightening as if wrapped in iron bands. “If that deal collapses... the margin calls tomorrow morning will wipe out the hedge fund.”
“They aren’t waiting until tomorrow morning, Richard,” Arthur said, sound of paper rustling frantically in the background. “The board of directors just called an emergency proxy session. They’re voting to strip your executive voting shares within the hour to salvage what’s left of the firm. You need to fix this. You need to apologize to whoever you insulted, right now!”
May you like
The line went dead.
Outside on the tarmac, the twin GE90 engines of the Boeing 777 roared to life, sending a blast of shimmering heat across the rainy concrete. Inside that plane, sitting comfortably in seat 2A with a clear view of the skyline, was the girl he had called a nobody.
