Elena Vasquez, the lead purser, quietly corrected a catering count before anyone else realized it was wrong.
He noticed that too.
Then Bradford Kane boarded.
Dante had seen his name before.
Not personally.
In files.
Kane Capital Advisory.
Private holdings.
Real estate.
Energy.
Transportation.
Banking relationships.
Bradford himself did not occupy the highest tier of American finance, but he lived near enough to it that people often confused proximity with control.
He entered the aircraft speaking before he reached the front galley.
“I was assigned 2B.”
Carmen smiled professionally. “Yes, Mr. Kane. Right this way.”
“My seat is 1A.”
“Your original reservation listed 1A, but there was an equipment change. You were reassigned to 2B, which has identical service and configuration.”
Bradford stopped.
“I have sat in 1A on this route for fifteen years.”
Dante kept reading.
Carmen explained again.
Seat 1A was occupied by another passenger.
Operational reassignment.
No downgrade.
No service change.
Bradford looked toward 1A, judged the passenger occupying it, and apparently decided confronting that particular man would be inconvenient.
Then his gaze moved.
Seat 2A.
Dante.
A window seat beside Bradford’s assigned 2B.
Dante sensed the decision before Bradford made it.
The man walked over.
He did not ask politely.
He looked down.
“You in 2A?”
Dante lowered the newspaper slightly.
The seat number was visible above the console.
“Yes.”
Bradford nodded once as though confirming a business detail.
“I want the window.”
Dante looked at him for a moment.
Then returned to the article.
“No.”
Bradford waited.
The casual rejection appeared to confuse him.
“I don’t think you understand.”
Dante turned a page.
“I understand.”
“My usual seat was reassigned.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“I need a window seat.”
“You have one across the aisle in 2B?”
“No.”
Bradford's jaw tightened. “2B is an aisle.”
“Then perhaps you should speak to the airline.”
“I am speaking to you.”
Dante finally folded the paper.
Around them, several passengers had begun pretending not to listen.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Move.”
“No.”
Bradford stared.
Dante reopened the paper.
That should have ended it.
For a reasonable person, it would have.
Bradford reached into the inside pocket of his suit.
Dante heard the leather wallet open.
He did not look up until ten hundred-dollar bills landed across the newspaper and his lap.
One struck his chest.
Another slid between his thigh and the armrest.
Three fluttered onto the carpet.
The rest remained scattered over the financial pages.
For a fraction of a second, Dante simply looked at the money.
The entire cabin seemed to stop breathing.
Bradford smiled.
“Take the thousand and move to coach.”
Dante slowly raised his eyes.
Bradford continued loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.