Denise nodded.
The captain frowned.
“You’re asking her?”
“Yes.”
Brianna turned toward him.
“There's more wrong on this flight than a laptop.”
Captain Mercer understood immediately.
Executive mode.
Brianna was not merely angry.
She was auditing.
Garrett looked between them.
“What exactly are you implying?”
Brianna finally turned toward him.
“You wanted to know what I do.”
He said nothing.
“I own the controlling interest in Skylark.”
Tiffany’s mouth opened.
Garrett shook his head.
“No.”
Brianna looked toward the aircraft around them.
“Ninety airplanes.”
Then tapped the dead laptop.
“Twelve thousand employees.”
She looked at Denise.
“And apparently a system that sometimes protects customers who mistreat those employees.”
Denise’s eyes filled.
Garrett laughed nervously.
“This is ridiculous.”
Brianna leaned back.
“You poured champagne onto my computer.”
“It was an accident.”
“No.”
“You can't prove—”
Tiffany’s phone was still in her hand.
Brianna looked at it.
Garrett followed her gaze.
His face changed.
Brianna said:
“Your wife can.”
Tiffany immediately locked the phone.
Garrett whispered:
“Delete it.”
Brianna’s voice sharpened for the first time.
“Don't.”
Tiffany froze.
“Do not delete that recording.”
Garrett stared.
“You cannot order her phone preserved.”
Brianna looked at Captain Mercer.
“Captain?”
He nodded.
“As potential evidence related to an in-flight incident, crew can request preservation pending law enforcement contact.”
Tiffany looked terrified.
“Law enforcement?”
Garrett turned toward Brianna.
“You're calling police over champagne?”
Brianna stared.
“No.”
The cabin became silent again.
“I’m documenting intentional property damage and repeated interference with another passenger.”
She looked at Denise.
“And potentially intimidation of crew.”
Garrett's face tightened.
“Intimidation?”
Denise looked down.
Brianna noticed.
“So yes.”
She turned back.
“Someone may speak to you when we land.”
Garrett lowered his voice.
“You have no idea who I am.”
Brianna almost laughed.
There it was.
The sentence people used when they believed identity could replace conduct.
She said:
“You're Garrett Coleman.”
He blinked.
“Coleman Imaging Group.”
Silence.
“Twenty-seven centers.”
Garrett’s confidence faltered.
“Approximately four hundred employees.”
Brianna continued.
“Platinum-tier Skylark account.”
He stared.
“You looked me up.”
“No.”