A small black handbag rested beside her.
On her lap was a brown document envelope.
She had boarded early after being told that her seat had been upgraded.
For the first several minutes, she tried to convince herself there was nothing unusual about the arrangement.
Her husband was a senior captain.
He had worked for the airline for decades.
Occasionally, crew-related travel privileges allowed eligible family members to receive seats when authorized under company rules and available inventory.
But something about this upgrade had troubled her.
The airline's app originally showed seat 29C.
She had received that assignment after booking the trip herself.
The ticket was legitimate.
Paid.
Confirmed.
She was traveling to Seattle to visit her sister and attend a private meeting concerning a complaint she had filed several weeks earlier.
Then, just before leaving home, her husband told her that the first-class cabin had an available seat.
She was surprised.
He rarely arranged upgrades for her.
During the early years of their marriage, he enjoyed doing small thoughtful things.
Flowers.
Weekend trips.
Special seats on anniversaries.
But over time, the gestures became less about kindness and more about reminding her how much influence he possessed.
In recent years, he seemed especially proud of being able to make rules bend.
He knew station managers.
Supervisors.
Crew schedulers.
And the employees responsible for flight arrangements.
He frequently described them as people who owed him favors.
His wife did not like that.
She had worked as a flight attendant earlier in her career and understood that airline procedures existed for a reason.
She knew a captain had legitimate authority over safety matters.
She also knew that authority was not supposed to become a personal source of free upgrades.
When he told her about seat 1A, she asked whether another passenger would be displaced.
He laughed.
"Of course not."
She studied him.
"Are you sure?"
He kissed her cheek.
"Stop worrying."