Chapter 6 - The Golden Wings
As Richard stepped through the aircraft door and onto the carpeted jet bridge, he was greeted not just by two airport police officers, but by a sizable delegation.
Standing in front of the officers was Marcus Vance, the Regional Vice President of Operations, wearing a tailored three-piece suit with an expensive silk tie. Flanking him were the station operations director, three ground supervisors holding clipboards, and two senior transit police officers with their thumbs hooked into their tactical belts.
“There he is, Mr. Vance!” Collins shouted, stepping off the aircraft right behind Richard, his face beaming with malicious satisfaction. “That’s the man! Seat 2A, who caused an ongoing disruption, verbally assaulted Vanessa during beverage service, and openly threatened crew members when we attempted to enforce federal safety regulations!”
Vanessa hurried out behind them, nodding vigorously. “He was belligerent, Marcus! He used vulgar language, insulted the premium passengers, and refused to follow direct orders. He needs to be formally banned and taken into custody immediately!”
Marcus Vance stepped forward, his eyes scanning the elderly man in the worn navy coat, the scuffed brown shoes, and the faded canvas bag. Vance took a deep breath, preparing to deliver his rehearsed speech about zero tolerance for disruptive behavior on Harrison Skyways flights.
“Sir,” Vance began in a booming, authoritarian voice. “I am Marcus Vance, Vice President of Passenger Operations. Due to your conduct aboard Flight 417, you are being detained for formal questioning and—”
Richard did not say a word.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached into the inner breast pocket of his frayed coat.
The two police officers immediately shifted their weight, their hands dropping toward their utility belts. “Keep your hands where we can see them, sir!” one officer ordered.
Richard ignored the warning and pulled out a worn black leather credential case. With a flick of his wrist, the leather wallet flipped open.
Pinned to the center of the leather was a solid gold aviator badge—the legendary Founding Wings Number 001. Below it rested an official, holographic Executive Identification Card featuring the crest of Harrison Skyways, stamped with the signature of the Federal Aviation Administration and the board of directors.
Above the photo, in bold crimson lettering, read:
RICHARD ARTHUR HARRISON
FOUNDER, MAJORITY SHAREHOLDER, AND CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD
Marcus Vance’s voice died instantly in his throat. His jaw dropped so violently it looked as if his facial muscles had ceased functioning. The color drained from his face with terrifying speed, turning his complexion from a healthy tan to the stark, sickly white of powdered chalk. His knees gave a visible shudder.
“M-Mr... Mr. Harrison?” Vance squeaked, his voice cracking like a terrified schoolboy’s.
Collins, however, was so blinded by his own arrogance that he hadn’t read the card clearly. “What is that garbage? Some fake senior citizen ID? Officers, arrest him! Marcus, tell them to cuff him!”
“SHUT UP!” Vance roared, his voice echoing violently off the corrugated metal walls of the jet bridge.
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The entire jet bridge went dead, tomb-like silent. The flight crew, the ground agents, and the police officers froze in mid-breath.
Vance turned toward Collins, his eyes bulging with absolute horror, sweat already beading along his forehead. “You absolute, brainless idiot... shut your mouth right now!”
