“You can describe your personal experience as a witness if the committee requests it.”
“Understood.”
Sarah slid a digital file onto the screen.
“Here’s the part you need to know.”
Marcus looked. The file contained complaint summaries. Meridian Airlines. Twenty-four months.
Passenger identity disputes. Selective secondary screening at gates. Service denials after document conflicts. Racial-bias allegations.
The Department had been reviewing the data for months as part of a broader industry study nicknamed Project Equity Flight. Marcus knew the aggregate numbers well. What he had not known was that the internal analysts had identified B12’s terminal region as one of several locations producing a disproportionate share of unresolved complaints.
“How many?” he asked.
“Thirty-seven complaints with enough similarity to warrant deeper review,” Sarah said. “Twelve from this airport. Five specifically involving Meridian personnel supervised through Walsh’s unit.”
Marcus leaned back.
“Names?”
“Not for you now.”
He looked at her.
“You’re serious about the clean-team wall.”
“Very.”
“Good.”
Sarah continued.
“One complaint describes a Black physician being accused of using a stolen first-class boarding pass because the gate agent believed his attire did not match the cabin. Another involved a Latino family asked for additional documentation after their passports had already cleared TSA. A third involved a Muslim federal contractor questioned about his travel purpose in front of other passengers.”
Marcus stared at the screen.
“Any discipline?”
“Unknown. Carrier responses were generic.”
“Training?”
“Meridian claims annual bias and customer-service training.”
Marlene Cho interjected.
“Do not dig.”
Marcus looked at her.
“I know.”
“No, I mean it. You are not the regulator on this case anymore.”
He nodded. That boundary hurt more than he expected. For eighteen months he had helped build the inquiry that might now use his experience as evidence, and the moment he became personally involved, the responsible thing was to step back. The irony was not lost on him.
Sandra had abused authority by assuming that being in charge made her judgment self-validating. Marcus would not answer that by treating his own authority the same way. The meeting lasted ninety minutes.
By the time it ended, his train ticket to Washington had been booked. His damaged passport was in federal custody. Meridian had issued a holding statement describing an “incident involving a customer document dispute,” wording so bloodless it became instantly mocked online. Marcus read it once.
Then closed his phone. At 10:38 p.m., he boarded the train. He found a quiet seat near the rear of the car. No one recognized him at first.
That lasted seven minutes. A woman across the aisle looked from her phone to Marcus, then back to the phone. Her eyes widened.
“Are you the airport guy?”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
“I suppose I am.”
She looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”