She wanted to understand how those procedures worked for passengers without access to an executive office.
But she never imagined a captain would use the very process designed to accommodate her disability as a pretext to take her seat.
On the morning of Flight 218, the CEO had not intended to reveal her position.
She was traveling to Seattle for two reasons.
The first was professional.
The airline's western operations division was preparing for an independent service-quality review, including the handling of accessibility requests, passenger complaints, and flight disruption records.
The CEO wanted to meet the review team in person.
She planned to discuss the findings with the regional leadership and visit a maintenance facility the following morning.
The second reason was personal.
Her father had retired near Seattle several years earlier.
He was recovering from surgery, and she wanted to spend the weekend with him and her mother.
They had not seen each other in almost three months.
Her father complained regularly that she spent more time in airports than at home.
She always promised to visit.
Then another meeting appeared.
Another operational problem.
Another crisis.
This time, she had blocked the weekend on her calendar.
No corporate gala.
No shareholder reception.
No last-minute interview.
Just dinner with her parents and a quiet afternoon watching airplanes with the man who first taught her to love them.
Her mother had already planned the meal.
Her father had promised not to criticize her luggage.
The CEO knew he would anyway.
He believed people who traveled with expensive leather bags were inviting trouble.
"You need a regular suitcase," he told her during their last call.
She laughed.
"Dad, my bag is fine."
He grunted.
"Costs more than my first car."
She smiled.
"Probably."
He was silent for a moment.
Then asked.
"Are you bringing the dog?"
"Of course."
"Good."
She looked surprised.
"Good?"
Her father chuckled.
"At least somebody on those trips makes sure you get enough rest."