For the first time that flight, Brianna had used a tone he recognized as authority.
He disliked it immediately.
“You don't talk to me like that.”
Brianna stared.
“Don't touch my property.”
Tiffany whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Garrett looked around.
Passengers were watching again.
His ego made the next decision before intelligence had time to interfere.
He lifted his champagne.
Brianna saw his hand.
Saw the angle.
Saw his eyes.
Then the glass tilted.
Golden liquid poured across her.
Laptop.
Dress.
Hands.
Tray table.
The computer died.
Garrett said:
“Oops.”
Then:
“Buy your own next time, economy.”
The cabin froze.
Brianna closed the laptop.
Pressed the call button.
Asked Denise for the captain.
And everything changed.
The cockpit door opened four minutes later.
Captain Alan Mercer stepped out.
He was fifty-eight.
Thirty-one years in aviation.
Silver hair.
White shirt with four gold stripes.
He had met Brianna many times.
Company safety meetings.
Fleet-delivery ceremonies.
Union negotiations.
Employee memorial services.
He recognized her instantly.
Then he saw her dress.
Wet.
The laptop.
Ruined.
The empty champagne glass beside Garrett.
The captain stopped.
“Ms. Brooks?”
Garrett's smile disappeared slightly.
Captain Mercer removed his cap.
“Madam CEO.”
Silence.
Tiffany lowered her phone.
Garrett looked at Brianna.
Then at the captain.
Then back.
“CEO?”
Brianna said nothing.
The captain looked toward Denise.
“What happened?”
Denise swallowed.
“Passenger conflict.”
Garrett immediately spoke.
“There was an accident.”
The passenger in 2A said:
“No, there wasn't.”
Another passenger said:
“He poured it.”
Tiffany raised her hand.
“It slipped.”
The older passenger turned.
“You were filming the whole thing.”
Tiffany looked at her phone.
Everyone else did too.
Garrett whispered:
“Put that away.”
Brianna almost smiled.
Captain Mercer looked at Garrett.
“Sir, remain seated.”
Garrett stared.
“You don't tell me—”
The captain’s expression changed.
“I absolutely do.”
Garrett stopped.
Brianna looked at Denise.
“You’re okay?”