Part 1

The First Class cabin of Orion Air Flight 402 smelled of leather, lavender, and entitlement. It was a world designed to keep the chaos of travel at arm’s length, a sanctuary for those who believed money could buy them out of discomfort.

Lysandra Vale did not fit the aesthetic.

She walked down the aisle clutching a backpack that had seen better decades, its canvas frayed and one strap held together with duct tape. Her gray sweater was pilling at the elbows, and her sneakers—once white, now a dull, scuffed beige—squeaked faintly on the carpet. She had no makeup on. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun held by a simple black elastic.

To the passengers of Flight 402, she was a glitch in the matrix. A visual error.

“Excuse me,” a man in seat 2A said, not bothering to look up from his iPad. “Economy is that way. Keep walking.”

Lysandra paused. She checked her boarding pass. Seat 2B. Right next to him.

“Actually,” she said softly, “this is my seat.”

The man looked up. He was mid-forties, wearing a suit that cost more than most cars. His eyes scanned her outfit with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

“Is this a joke?” he scoffed. He pressed the call button above his head aggressively. “Stewardess! We have a situation.”

Tanya, the head flight attendant, materialized instantly. She was a vision of corporate perfection—immaculate uniform, terrifyingly white teeth, and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Sterling?” Tanya asked, her voice dripping with honey.

“This… person,” Mr. Sterling said, gesturing at Lysandra with his stylus, “claims she’s sitting here. Clearly, there’s been a mistake. She’s probably holding a janitor’s ticket or something.”

Tanya turned to Lysandra. The honey in her voice curdled instantly.

“Let me see your boarding pass,” she demanded, extending a hand with perfectly manicured red nails.

Lysandra handed it over. Tanya scanned it. Her eyebrows shot up. It was valid. Paid for in cash. Full fare.

But Tanya knew her job. Her job wasn’t just safety; it was maintaining the atmosphere. And a woman who looked like a vagrant was ruining the vibe for their high-value platinum members.

“Ma’am,” Tanya said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, condescending whisper. “I think you’d be more comfortable in the rear cabin. We have some lovely seats back there. Less… pressure.”

“I’m fine here,” Lysandra said. Her voice was calm, steady. “I paid for this seat.”

“Look,” Mr. Sterling interrupted. “I don’t care what she paid. I paid ten thousand dollars to not smell… whatever that is. Detergent? Poverty? Get her out.”

A woman across the aisle, sipping champagne, giggled. “Oh, let her stay. It’s like a social experiment. Maybe she’s writing a blog about how the other half lives.”

Laughter rippled through the cabin. Phones were raised. The passengers were delighted. It was entertainment.

Suddenly, the cockpit door opened. Captain Elliot Crane stepped out. He was tall, handsome in a plastic way, with epaulets that gleamed under the lights. He was the face of Orion Air—charming, authoritative, and completely hollow.

“What is the hold-up?” Crane barked. “We have a schedule.”

“Captain,” Tanya said, rushing over. “This passenger is refusing to move. She’s… disturbing the other guests.”

Crane looked at Lysandra. He looked at her shoes. He looked at her backpack. He didn’t look at her eyes.

“This isn’t a homeless shelter,” Crane said loud enough for the back rows to hear. “Get her off my plane.”

“But she has a ticket,” Tanya whispered, covering her bases.

“I don’t care,” Crane snapped. “She’s a security risk. She looks unstable. Refund her. Ban her. Just get her off.”

He turned to Lysandra. “You heard me. Get out. Or I call the Marshals.”

Lysandra looked at him. She looked at Tanya, who was smirking. She looked at Mr. Sterling, who was filming her on his phone, narrating: “Can you believe this? They let anyone in these days.”

She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She simply nodded.

“You’re making a choice,” she said to Crane.

“Yeah, I’m choosing to keep my cabin classy,” Crane retorted. “Go.”

Tanya snatched the boarding pass from Lysandra’s hand and tore it in half. The sound was sharp, final.

“Your place is in the terminal, honey,” Tanya sneered. “Not the sky.”

She grabbed Lysandra’s arm and shoved her toward the door. The passengers cheered. Someone shouted, “Bye, Felicia!”

Lysandra stumbled but caught herself. She adjusted her backpack. She walked down the stairs to the tarmac, the cold wind hitting her face.

Behind her, the door closed. The engines whined to life.

Lysandra stood there for a moment, watching the plane taxi away. She pulled her phone from her pocket. It was an old model with a cracked screen.

She dialed a number.

“Claire,” she said when her assistant answered. “It’s done.”

“How did it go?” Claire asked. “Did they pass the audit?”

“No,” Lysandra said. “They failed. Spectacularly.”

“I’m sorry, Lysandra. I know you wanted this acquisition to work.”

“Oh, it’s going to work,” Lysandra said, her voice hardening. “Just not the way they think. Call the board. Tell them I’m calling an emergency meeting at Orion HQ in two hours. And tell them… tell them the Chairwoman is coming.”

Part 2

Chapter 1: The Asphalt and the Armor

The heavy, pressurized door of the Boeing 747 clicked shut with a mechanical finality that reverberated through the soles of Lysandra’s worn sneakers. The sound was a severance—a sharp blade cutting the world into two distinct realities: the warm, lavender-scented luxury of the cabin she had just been expelled from, and the biting, fuel-heavy wind of the tarmac where she now stood.

Lysandra did not move immediately. She stood at the top of the metal stairs, gripping the cold railing. Her knuckles were white, not from the cold, but from the sheer, kinetic force of the rage vibrating in her marrow. She closed her eyes and took a breath. The air tasted of kerosene and burnt rubber, a sharp contrast to the champagne and expensive perfume that had suffocated her moments ago.

Above her, through the small porthole window of the jetway, she could see faces pressing against the glass. Passengers. The man with the Rolex. The woman in the scarf. They were pointing. Some were laughing. They looked like visitors at a zoo observing a specimen that had been rejected by the pack.

Lysandra looked up at them. She didn’t scowl. She didn’t weep. She memorized them. She cataloged the faces of the people who believed that dignity was a commodity reserved for the wealthy.

She began the descent down the metal stairs. Each step rang out, a metallic tolling bell in the vast emptiness of the airfield.

At the bottom of the stairs, a ground crew member was waiting. He was an older man wearing a neon yellow vest over grease-stained coveralls. His name tag read Bernie. He held a rugged tablet in one hand and looked at Lysandra with a mixture of confusion and sympathy.

“Miss?” Bernie asked, his voice fighting against the whine of the jet engines spooling up nearby. “Is everything alright? Usually, they don’t… well, they don’t usually walk passengers down here unless they’re being arrested.”

Lysandra adjusted the strap of her frayed backpack. “I wasn’t arrested, Bernie. I was discarded.”

Bernie looked at her clothes—the pilling sweater, the duct-taped bag—and then back up at the gleaming white fuselage of the Orion Air jet. He pieced the story together instantly. He had worked this tarmac for thirty years; he knew exactly how the flight crews operated.

“Capital Crane again?” Bernie asked, spitting on the concrete. “He’s a piece of work, that one. Treats the engines better than the people, and he treats the engines like garbage.”

“He won’t be a problem for much longer,” Lysandra said. Her voice was calm, terrifyingly so.

Bernie hesitated. “Look, miss. I can call the terminal shuttle. It’s a long walk back to the gate, and security might give you a hard time if you’re wandering the apron alone.”

“Thank you, Bernie,” she said. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a card. It wasn’t a credit card. It was a heavy, matte-black business card with gold embossing. She handed it to him.

Bernie squinted at it. Lysandra Veil. Chairwoman. Veil Aero Holdings.

His eyes widened. He looked from the card to the woman in the sneakers. “Wait. Veil Aero? The company that owns… well, half the sky?”

“Ideally, yes,” Lysandra said. “Bernie, I need a favor. I need you to note the tail number of this aircraft. I need the maintenance logs for the last six months, specifically the cabin pressure regulators and the auxiliary power unit service history. Can you access those on your tablet?”

“I… yes, ma’am. I can. But why?”

“Because when I dismantle this company in two hours, I want to make sure the ground crew is protected. You guys do the real work. I’m going to need a Head of Maintenance for the new fleet. Keep that card.”

Bernie stared at her, stunned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” Lysandra said, turning toward the terminal building looming in the distance. “I have a wardrobe change to make.”

She walked across the tarmac. She didn’t look back as Flight 402 began to taxi. She didn’t need to see it leave. She owned the lease on that plane. She owned the fuel in its tanks. She owned the debt that paid for the pilot’s uniform.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb of glass over the digital display. She dialed a number.

“Claire,” she said the moment the line connected.

“Lysandra?” Claire’s voice was breathless. “I’ve been tracking the flight. You’re not on board. What happened? Did the audit fail?”

“The audit didn’t fail, Claire. The subject failed. Catastrophically.”

“They kicked you off?”

“They threw me off. The Captain called me a security risk because I looked poor. The Head Stewardess tore my ticket in half.”

There was a silence on the line, followed by the rapid clicking of a keyboard. “Okay. I’m initializing the crisis protocol. Where are you?”

“Tarmac side. I’m heading to the private hangar now. Is the car ready?”

“The Rolls is waiting in Hangar 4. Your suit is in the back. Hair and makeup team is on standby, but you said you wanted to handle it yourself?”

“I’ll handle it,” Lysandra said. “I don’t want to look like a model. I want to look like an executioner. Claire, call the Orion Air board of directors. All of them. Tell them to meet me at their headquarters in ninety minutes. Tell them it’s a mandatory compliance review regarding the acquisition.”

“Gavin Hall isn’t going to like that. He hates short notice.”

“Gavin Hall,” Lysandra said, her voice dropping an octave, “is going to wish he had called in sick today. Also, pull the debt covenants on their primary loan. Section 4, Paragraph B. The ‘Reputational Harm’ clause.”

“You’re calling the loan?” Claire gasped. “Lysandra, that’s a nuclear option. That will bankrupt them by sunset.”

“That’s the timeline,” Lysandra confirmed. “Sunset. I want the logo off the building before it gets dark.”

She hung up. She reached the side door of the terminal, swiped a universal security pass that she had kept hidden in her sock, and entered the cool, sterile hallway.

The game had changed. It wasn’t business anymore. It was a lesson.

Chapter 2: The Glass Fortress

The headquarters of Orion Air was a monument to vanity. Located three miles from the airport, it was a twenty-story tower of blue glass and steel that jutted out of the landscape like a shard of ice.

Inside the Executive Suite on the top floor, the air conditioning was set to a shivering sixty-eight degrees. It was designed to keep people awake, alert, and uncomfortable.

Gavin Hall, the interim CEO, stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ants crawling on the highway below. He took a sip of sparkling water and checked his reflection in the glass. He adjusted his tie. Perfect. Everything about Gavin was perfect, from his Italian loafers to his teeth.

“Why are they coming today?” Gavin snapped, turning to his VP of Operations, a nervous man named Miller who was currently sweating through his shirt. “The Veil Holdings due diligence team wasn’t scheduled until next week.”

“I don’t know, Gavin,” Miller stammered, scrolling through his tablet. “The call came from the Chairwoman’s office directly. They said ‘Emergency Compliance Meeting.’ They cited a ‘Category 1 Event.'”

“Category 1?” Gavin scoffed. “That’s for plane crashes and federal indictments. We haven’t crashed a plane in six years. What is this, a power play? Is Veil trying to drive the price down?”

“Maybe,” Miller said. “But they demanded the entire senior staff. Flight Ops, HR, Legal. And… they specifically requested the flight crew from Flight 402.”

Gavin frowned. “Flight 402? That’s the London run. It just took off. Why do they want the crew?”

“I don’t know. But they turned the plane around.”

“What?” Gavin roared. “They grounded a transatlantic flight? Do you know how much that costs in fuel alone? Who authorized that?”

“Air Traffic Control received a ‘Owner Direct’ order,” Miller said. “Veil Holdings technically owns the leasing papers on that aircraft. They have the right to ground it.”

Gavin threw his water glass against the wall. It shattered, leaving a wet stain on the expensive silk wallpaper.

“This is harassment!” Gavin shouted. “Get Elliot Crane back here. If they want to play hardball, I’ll show them our numbers. We are profitable. We are premium. We don’t let anyone push us around.”

The elevator doors chimed.

Tanya, the head flight attendant, and Captain Elliot Crane walked in. They looked annoyed. Crane was checking his watch; Tanya was fixing her lipstick.

“This is ridiculous,” Crane announced, throwing his flight bag onto a leather sofa. “I was wheels up. We were taxiing. Do you know how embarrassing it is to turn a bird around because corporate wants a chat?”

“What happened, Elliot?” Gavin asked, marching over to him. “Did you hit something? Did you fail a pre-flight check?”

“The plane is perfect,” Crane snapped. “We had a minor passenger issue, but we handled it. Some homeless woman tried to sneak into First Class. Smelled like a wet dog. We kicked her off. Standard procedure for preserving the cabin environment.”

“A homeless woman?” Gavin rubbed his temples. “Who let a homeless woman through TSA?”

“I don’t know,” Tanya chimed in, smoothing her skirt. “But she was dreadfully dressed. A backpack held together with tape. She claimed she had a ticket. Probably stole it. We did the right thing, Gavin. Mr. Sterling in seat 2A was getting ready to tweet about it. We saved the brand’s image.”

“Fine,” Gavin waved his hand. “Whatever. That’s not why we’re here. Veil Holdings is doing a surprise inspection. They want to meet the team. So fix your faces. Elliot, look heroic. Tanya, look hospitable. We need to close this acquisition so I can cash out my stock options and buy my island.”

“Veil Holdings?” Tanya perked up. “Oh, good. I hear they have great benefits. Maybe they’ll finally get rid of these polyester uniforms.”

“Just smile,” Gavin hissed. “And don’t mention the homeless woman. We don’t want them thinking we have security leaks.”

“They’re here,” Miller whispered, looking at his phone. “Security says the motorcade just pulled up.”

“Motorcade?” Gavin asked. “How many cars?”

“Four black SUVs and a Rolls Royce Phantom.”

Gavin straightened his jacket. “Showtime.”

Chapter 3: The Trojan Horse

The lobby of Orion Air was designed to intimidate. The ceilings were forty feet high, adorned with massive suspended models of jets. The reception desk was a slab of white marble manned by two receptionists who looked like runway models.

When the revolving doors spun, the atmosphere in the lobby shifted instantly.

Four men in dark suits entered first. They moved with the synchronized precision of a tactical team, scanning the corners, securing the elevators. They weren’t corporate security; they were close-protection specialists.

Then, she walked in.

She wore a suit so black it seemed to absorb the light around it. It was tailored to within a millimeter of her life, sharp angles and clean lines that screamed authority. Her trousers broke perfectly over stiletto heels that clicked rhythmically on the marble floor. A white silk blouse provided the only contrast, crisp and severe.

Her hair, previously a messy bun, was now slicked back into a flawless, architectural chignon. Her face was bare of heavy makeup, but her lips were painted a deep, blood red.

She carried nothing but a slim leather portfolio.

The receptionists stopped typing. The security guards stood up straighter.

Lysandra walked to the turnstiles. She didn’t stop for a pass. One of her security team held up a device that overrode the building’s lock system. The gates beeped and opened automatically.

“Excuse me!” the receptionist called out, recovering her voice. “Ma’am! You need to sign in! Who are you here to see?”

Lysandra didn’t break stride. She didn’t even look at the desk.

“I’m here to see my assets,” she said. Her voice carried through the cavernous lobby, calm and cold.

She stepped into the elevator. Her team surrounded her. The doors closed.

“ETA to boardroom?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds,” the lead agent replied. “We have secured the network. The building’s wifi is now routed through our servers. We have control of the AV system in the boardroom.”

“Good,” Lysandra said. She checked her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. She looked at her eyes. They were the same eyes that had cried on the tarmac an hour ago. But the tears were gone. Now, there was only calculation.

“Claire,” she said into her earpiece. “Are the files queued?”

“Loaded and ready,” Claire’s voice responded. “I’ve synced the hidden camera footage from your backpack to the boardroom projector. I also have the financial audits ready to deploy.”

“And the debt call?”

“The paperwork was filed with the SEC five minutes ago. It’s public record now. Orion Air is technically in default.”

“Excellent.”

The elevator dinged. 20th Floor. Executive Level.

The doors slid open.

Chapter 4: The Evidence of Rot

The boardroom doors were solid mahogany, heavy and imposing. Inside, Gavin Hall and his team were seated around a long glass table, looking like students waiting for the principal.

The doors swung open.

Lysandra walked in.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t offer a handshake. She walked to the head of the table. Gavin Hall, who had been sitting there, scrambled out of the chair so fast he nearly tipped it over.

“Ms… Ms. Veil?” Gavin stammered. He looked confused. “We… we were expecting…”

“You were expecting a buyer,” Lysandra said. She placed her portfolio on the table. “Please, sit down.”

Gavin sat in a side chair. Elliot Crane leaned back, trying to look bored, but his eyes were darting nervously. Tanya was fixing her hair, trying to catch Lysandra’s eye for a ‘girl-to-girl’ smile. Lysandra ignored her.

“Good afternoon,” Lysandra began. “I am Lysandra Veil. Chairwoman of Veil Aero Holdings. As you know, we have been in negotiations to acquire Orion Air for the past six months.”

“Yes, and we are very excited,” Gavin interrupted. “Our numbers are up, our efficiency is—”

“Silence,” Lysandra said. She didn’t shout. She simply dropped the word like a heavy stone. Gavin’s mouth snapped shut.

“I do not care about your spreadsheets, Mr. Hall. I care about the soul of a company. I care about how a brand behaves when it thinks it is untouchable.”

She walked slowly around the table. The clicking of her heels was the only sound in the room.

“This morning,” she said, “I decided to conduct a field audit. An unannounced stress test of your customer service protocols and your leadership culture.”

“An audit?” Elliot scoffed. “We pass audits every quarter. Our safety record is impeccable.”

“I’m not talking about engine maintenance, Captain Crane,” Lysandra said, stopping behind his chair. “I’m talking about human maintenance.”

She gestured to the massive screen on the wall.

“I wore a disguise,” she said. “I bought a full-fare First Class ticket with cash. I boarded Flight 402.”

Tanya frowned. She squinted at Lysandra. Something about the cheekbones… something about the voice…

“Wait,” Tanya whispered. “No.”

Lysandra pulled a small remote from her pocket. She pressed a button.

The screen flared to life.

It was video footage. High-definition video recorded from a lens hidden in the strap of a backpack.

The angle was low. It showed the interior of a First Class cabin.

“Excuse me, Economy is that way,” a man’s voice sneered from the speakers.

Then, Tanya appeared on the screen. Her face was twisted in a look of utter contempt.

“Let me see your boarding pass,” the on-screen Tanya demanded. “I think you’d be more comfortable in the rear cabin. Less… pressure.”

In the boardroom, the real Tanya turned pale. She put a hand to her throat.

The video cut to Captain Elliot Crane storming out of the cockpit.

“This isn’t a homeless shelter,” Crane’s voice boomed. “Get her off my plane. She’s a security risk. She looks unstable.”

In the boardroom, Elliot Crane froze. He stared at the screen, watching himself bully a woman in a sweater. He saw the arrogance in his own posture. He heard the cruelty in his own voice.

The video continued. The ripping of the ticket. The shove toward the door. The laughter of the passengers.

The screen went black.

Lysandra stood at the head of the table. She looked at them.

“That woman,” she said softly, “was me.”

Gavin Hall looked like he was having a stroke. He looked from Lysandra to the screen and back again. “You? But… you looked…”

“Poor?” Lysandra finished the sentence. “I looked poor. And because I looked poor, you decided I had no rights. You decided I wasn’t a person. You decided I was waste.”

She turned to Elliot.

“Captain Crane. You called me unstable. You said I was a security risk. Tell me, does a cashmere blend sweater interfere with the navigational systems of an Airbus A320?”

Elliot opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was drowning.

“And you,” she turned to Tanya. “You tore my ticket. That ticket was a contract. A legal contract between a passenger and an airline. You violated that contract because you didn’t like my shoes.”

“I… I was just following orders,” Tanya whimpered. tears streaming down her face. “The other passengers… Mr. Sterling… they were complaining. I had to protect the brand experience.”

“You are the brand experience!” Lysandra shouted, slamming her hand on the table. The glass rattled. “And you failed! You showed me that this company is rotten to its core. You cater to bullies. You enable snobs. And you trample on anyone you think can’t fight back.”

Chapter 5: The Default Clause

Gavin Hall stood up. He was shaking, but he was trying to salvage the deal.

“Ms. Veil,” he said, holding out his hands. “Please. This is regrettable. Highly regrettable. But these two individuals… they don’t represent the company. We will fire them. Right now. Immediately. Elliot, Tanya, get out. You’re done.”

“No,” Lysandra said. “Sit down.”

Gavin blinked. “What?”

“They aren’t the problem, Gavin. They are the symptom. You are the problem.”

She pressed the remote again. The screen changed.

Now it showed a series of documents. Financial spreadsheets. Email chains.

“While I was conducting my field audit,” Lysandra said, “my team was conducting a forensic audit of your books.”

She pointed to a highlighted email on the screen. It was from Gavin to his CFO.

SUBJECT: Pension Fund Allocation. BODY: We need to move the mechanic’s pension fund into the operational budget to cover the Q3 losses. We can pay it back after the Veil acquisition goes through. They’ll never know.

Gavin sank into his chair. “That… that was a draft. We never sent that.”

“The transfer was made yesterday,” Lysandra said. “You embezzled from your own employees to dress up the pig for the sale.”

She clicked the remote again. A legal document appeared.

“This is the loan agreement between Veil Holdings and Orion Air. We hold your operating debt. Five hundred million dollars.”

She zoomed in on a paragraph at the bottom.

“Section 4, Paragraph B. The ‘Moral Turpitude and Default’ clause. It states that if the leadership of Orion Air engages in unethical behavior, fraud, or actions that damage the reputational value of the collateral, the lender has the right to call the loan immediately.”

“You can’t call the loan,” Gavin whispered. “We don’t have the cash. We’d be insolvent.”

“I know,” Lysandra said. “That’s the point.”

She pulled a document from her portfolio and slid it across the table to Gavin.

“This is a notice of default. As of 1:00 PM today, Veil Holdings is demanding full repayment of the principal and interest. You have twenty-four hours.”

“We can’t pay!” Gavin screamed. “This is a hostile takeover!”

“No,” Lysandra said calmly. “A takeover implies I want to keep you. I don’t. This is a foreclosure.”

She looked at Elliot and Tanya.

“You asked if I was mixing up my ticket,” she said to Tanya. “You were right. I don’t belong in seat 2B. I belong at the head of this table.”

She looked at Elliot.

“And you told me to get out. So I’m returning the favor. Get out. All of you.”

“You can’t fire us!” Elliot shouted, finding a shred of his ego. “I have a contract! I have a union!”

“You don’t have a contract,” Lysandra said. “Because Orion Air ceases to exist as a legal entity tomorrow morning. We are seizing the assets. The planes. The terminals. The slots. But not the contracts. The company is being liquidated.”

Chapter 6: Scorched Earth

The chaos that followed was absolute.

Gavin Hall was on his phone, screaming at his lawyers. Tanya was sobbing into her hands. Elliot was staring out the window at the planes he would never fly again.

Lysandra watched them for a moment. She felt no joy. Only a cold, hard satisfaction. It was the feeling of cleaning a wound. It hurt, but it was necessary for healing.

She turned and walked toward the door.

“Wait!” Gavin ran after her. He grabbed the door handle. “Please! There are thousands of employees! Mechanics! Baggage handlers! Good people! You can’t punish them for our mistakes! They have families!”

Lysandra stopped. She looked at Gavin.

“You’re right,” she said. “There are good people. Like the mechanic I met on the tarmac. Bernie. He helped me with my bag when you kicked me off. He hated you, by the way.”

She smiled.

“That’s why I’m not just liquidating. I’m rebranding.”

She reached into her portfolio and pulled out a glossy brochure. She handed it to Gavin.

The cover read: VEIL AIR. Service. Dignity. Excellence.

“I’m launching a new airline next week,” Lysandra said. “We are taking over the Orion routes. And we are opening hiring immediately.”

She looked at the room.

“I have a team of HR specialists in the lobby right now. They are offering jobs to every single member of the Orion ground crew, maintenance staff, and cabin crew who has a clean record. We are honoring their seniority. We are matching their pay. We are saving their pensions—the ones you tried to steal.”

Gavin stared at the brochure.

“But not us,” he whispered.

“No,” Lysandra said. “Not senior management. And not the flight crew of Flight 402. You are blacklisted. I will make sure the video of what you did today plays in every HR office in the aviation industry. You won’t be able to get a job flying a kite.”

She pushed the door open.

“Security,” she said to the agents waiting in the hall. “Escort these trespassers out of my building.”

Lysandra walked down the hallway. She passed the terrified receptionists. She stopped at the desk.

“You two,” she said.

The receptionists jumped. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You tried to stop me earlier,” Lysandra said. “You asked for my ID. You were doing your job. Good work.”

The receptionists let out a breath they had been holding for an hour.

“Keep the desk manned,” Lysandra said. “We have a lot of new hires coming in tomorrow.”

She walked out of the building and into the blinding afternoon sun.

Her Rolls Royce was waiting. Claire opened the door.

“It’s done?” Claire asked.

“It’s done,” Lysandra said, sliding into the leather seat.

“Where to now?”

“The airport,” Lysandra said.

“Private hangar?”

“No,” Lysandra said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of old, scuffed sneakers. She kicked off her heels and slipped them on. She pulled her hair out of the tight bun, letting it fall messy around her shoulders. She took off the expensive jacket, revealing a simple t-shirt underneath.

“Take me to the main terminal,” Lysandra said. “I have a flight to catch. Economy class.”

Claire smiled in the rearview mirror. “Undercover again?”

“Always,” Lysandra said, looking out the window as the Orion Air sign on the building began to flicker and die. “You never know what you’ll find when you sit in the back of the plane.”

As the car pulled away, Lysandra closed her eyes. She thought of her father, the crop duster pilot who taught her to fly. She thought of his hands, stained with oil. She thought of what he used to say: The sky belongs to everyone, Liss. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

She opened her eyes. The sky was blue and endless. And now, finally, it was clean.