Chapter 7 - The Freezing Jet Bridge
David Collins stared at his vice president in utter disbelief. “Marcus... what are you talking about? It’s me! David! This guy is just a vagrant who caused a scene in first class—”
“That man,” Vance interrupted, his voice trembling so violently he could barely pronounce the syllables, “is Richard Harrison. He owns this aircraft. He owns this terminal lease. He owns Harrison Skyways. He signs my paycheck, he signs your paycheck, and he could buy and sell this entire airport before lunch.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Vanessa Cole gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes widened into saucers of sheer terror as her gaze darted from the gold badge to the elderly man she had spent the last two hours tormenting. Her knees buckled, and she had to lean against the wall of the jet bridge to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
“He... he’s Richard Harrison?” she whispered, her voice choking on the words.
Richard looked at her, his expression devoid of all warmth, his eyes as cold and unyielding as granite. “Yes, Ms. Cole. The very same ‘freeloader’ who doesn’t belong in first class. The ‘derelict’ who ruins the brand.”
Collins stood frozen, the blood roaring in his ears. His arrogant sneer had vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated dread. The four gold stripes on his cuffs suddenly felt like lead weights dragging him into an abyss. Every smug threat he had whispered at thirty thousand feet came rushing back to crush him: Up in the air, I am the law... My word against yours... The vice president is my personal friend...
Richard turned his gaze toward Marcus Vance. The vice president was shaking so severely that his clipboard clattered to the floor, spilling passenger manifests across the carpet.
“Mr. Vance,” Richard said calmly. “I believe you mentioned something about filing a formal complaint against a passenger?”
“Mr. Harrison... sir... please,” Vance stammered, wiping frantically at the cold sweat pouring down his temples. “There has been a catastrophic misunderstanding! I had no idea you were on this flight! If I had known, I would have met the aircraft with an executive car on the tarmac! I would have—”
“If you had known it was me, you would have treated me with dignity,” Richard cut him off, his voice cutting through the damp chill of the jet bridge like an executioner’s blade. “Which means your respect is not based on human decency, Mr. Vance. It is based entirely on fear and opportunism.”
Richard turned to the two airport police officers. “Officers, thank you for your prompt response, but your services will not be required for criminal detention today. However, I suggest you remain. You may be needed to escort several former employees off airport property.”
The senior officer glanced at the gold credentials, recognized the signature, and gave a crisp nod of respect. “Understood, Mr. Harrison. We’re at your disposal.”
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Behind Richard, Grace Morgan stood with her mouth slightly open. The sweet, stooped old man she had protected in row 27 was the living legend whose portrait hung in every corporate office from Seattle to Miami. She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.
“Now,” Richard said, turning back toward the terrified trio of executives and crew members. “I believe there is an empty conference room adjacent to the gate lounge. Let us have a little conversation about company culture.”
