Despite everything, I laughed.
Olivia looked toward me.
Then her expression softened.
"Elias, are you okay?"
For a moment, I considered saying yes.
I was physically all right.
I had changed my clothes.
And the flight had landed safely.
But I felt shaken in a way I hadn't expected.
So I answered honestly.
"Not completely."
Olivia nodded.
She opened the passenger door.
"Then we're not going straight to the office."
I frowned.
"I've got the board meeting tomorrow."
"And you'll attend it."
She looked toward me.
"But tonight, you're going home."
For several seconds, I stared.
Then nodded.
She was right.
That evening, I sat in my apartment overlooking the city.
The navy hoodie lay folded on the couch.
The coffee-stained jeans were in a laundry bag.
And my boarding pass remained open on my phone.
Seat 2A.
Paid.
Confirmed.
Boarded.
Then reassigned after I was already sitting in it.
I examined the timeline again.
The original reservation had been created thirty-seven days before departure.
The ticket was issued immediately.
I selected Seat 2A during purchase.
The boarding pass was generated the evening before the flight.
The gate scanner accepted it.
Then, after I boarded, a manual override changed the seat assignment to 19E.
The system recorded the change as a voluntary accommodation.
I stared at those words.
Voluntary.
I hadn't volunteered.
Nobody asked me.
Nobody explained a valid reason for the change.
And the flight attendant had acted as though I was causing trouble by requesting the service I'd purchased.
I had spent years designing systems to prevent exactly that kind of inconsistency.
Now I was looking at one inside the airline I was about to lead.
But what troubled me most wasn't the software error.
It was the possibility that the system had behaved exactly as someone intended.
At 8:15 the following morning, I entered Crestline's Atlanta headquarters.
The building rose above a business district near the airport, with broad windows, modern offices, and conference rooms overlooking the runways.
I wore a dark business suit.
No hoodie.
No faded jeans.
No sneakers.
Olivia had insisted that I dress professionally for the leadership announcement.
I agreed.
But before leaving home, I placed my mother's navy hoodie inside my briefcase.
I wasn't entirely sure why.
Perhaps I wanted a reminder of how differently people had treated me when I wore it.
Perhaps I wanted to remember the woman who bought it.
Or perhaps I simply wasn't ready to put it away.
The board chair met me outside the conference room.
Nora Bell took one look at my face.
Then asked, "How bad was it?"