Chapter 10 - Sweet Karma Served Cold
Three months later, I found myself back at O'Hare International Airport, waiting to board a flight to New York for a weekend getaway. The memory of Flight 842 had faded into a beloved legend that Clara and I still recounted over drinks, but life had continued its steady, peaceful rhythm.
As I sat near the boarding gate, a familiar voice called out my name. ""Maya! Over here!""
I turned to see Clara walking toward me, wearing an elegant business suit and pulling a sleek designer carry-on. But behind her was someone I never expected to see: Arthur Sterling himself, dressed in a sharp navy blazer, looking relaxed, vibrant, and completely in his element.
""Maya, it is an absolute pleasure to see you again under much more dignified circumstances,"" Arthur said, extending a warm, firm hand.
""Mr. Sterling, what a wonderful surprise,"" I smiled, shaking his hand. ""What brings you to Gate B12?""
""Well, Clara and I just wrapped up the final restructuring of the new Sterling-Montgomery Logistics Fund,"" Arthur explained with a twinkle in his eye. ""And since we both happened to know you were flying to New York today, we arranged a small token of our appreciation for your... let's call it 'invaluable corporate consulting' aboard Flight 842.""
He handed me a sleek black boarding pass. I looked down at the paper. My seat had been upgraded to Seat 1A: First Class, fully reclining lie-flat suite, complete with luxury amenity kits, champagne service, and more personal legroom than an entire row in economy.
""You saved my family's company from making an eighty-million-dollar mistake with an arrogant fraud, Maya,"" Arthur said gently. ""The least I can do is make sure that whenever you fly, your armrests are completely, unconditionally protected.""
Before I could even thank him, a soft rustle caught my attention near the boarding line. Across the terminal, standing near the economy standby counter, was a man in an ill-fitting gray suit, clutching a worn vinyl briefcase. His hair was messy, his shoulders were slumped, and he was arguing desperately with the gate agent about a voucher.
It was Richard Vance.
Stripped of his high-paying partnership, his corporate credit cards, and his private travel perks, he was now flying commercial standby like everyone else. And as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, his trouser leg rode up just high enough to reveal a brand-new pair of thick, heavy wool socks pulled all the way up to his mid-calf—tightly secured, neatly laced, and firmly contained inside sturdy rubber-soled sneakers.
He caught my eye across the crowded gate.
May you like
For a brief, frozen second, his face turned bright pink, the ghost of that Electric Barbie polish returning to haunt him. I didn't say a word. I simply lifted my black first-class ticket, raised my elbow into the air, and gave him a gentle, knowing wink.
Richard immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, shuffled his feet backward, and quietly disappeared into the back of the line."
