Eleanor had worked with her for six years and understood when a conversation had reached its permitted end. She reminded Margot that the investor's chair, Adrienne Cole, would attend the signing in person. Margot acknowledged the name without much interest. She had dealt primarily with David Okafor and the legal team, and had been told that Cole preferred to keep herself out of preliminary meetings. It was slightly unusual, but people with that kind of capital were allowed their peculiarities.
Margot's driver took her to the airport shortly after seven. During the drive, she dictated a message to her staff about the press release they could issue after closing and reminded someone to confirm her usual premium travel arrangements. The airline had been carrying her for two decades, and she considered its first-class service one of the small rewards she had earned. The fact that her preferred seat had not been guaranteed on this booking had irritated her when the confirmation arrived, but she assumed it would be corrected at the gate.
At the check-in counter, the agent examined her booking and explained that her confirmed seat was 2C, on the aisle. Margot asked whether 2A could be arranged, and the agent checked the manifest before explaining that it was assigned to another passenger who had purchased it earlier. She offered to add a seat-change request if the passenger voluntarily agreed to switch. Margot replied that there would be no need; she had flown the route so often that the cabin crew would know how to handle it.
The agent did not promise anything. She printed the boarding pass, circled 2C, and wished Margot a good flight. Margot folded the pass without looking at the number and walked toward security, already composing the story she would tell later about another example of declining customer service. Behind her, the agent called for the next traveler and tried to clear the uneasiness from her face.
Adrienne arrived at the airport by shuttle rather than private car. She carried her own bag through security, bought a paperback from a bookstore, and stopped for coffee near the departure gate. She had left plenty of time because she disliked the frantic feeling of arriving at an airport with minutes to spare. As she waited, she watched a father teach his young daughter how to read the gate information screen, pointing from the flight number to the destination until the child understood.
A woman in a cleaning uniform passed the coffee stand pushing a cart. She bent to pick up a discarded napkin while two men in business suits walked around her without noticing. Adrienne held open the nearby door so the cart could pass, and the cleaner thanked her with a surprised smile. It was such a small exchange that neither would have remembered it for long, but it reminded Adrienne of her mother's advice from the night before.
At the gate, Kayla Reyes was helping travelers with preboarding questions. She was twenty-seven, a flight attendant with just under two years of experience, and had learned quickly that first class sometimes demanded more emotional labor than the rest of the cabin. Her uniform was neat, her voice steady, and her smile genuine enough to survive the exhaustion of a week of early departures. She carried a small folded note in her pocket with the names of two passengers who had requested extra assistance and the reminder that seat 2A had a confirmed dietary preference.
Kayla checked Adrienne's boarding pass when she entered. "First class, 2A, right by the window," she said. "Welcome aboard. Can I get you anything before we push back?" "Water would be lovely," Adrienne replied. "Thank you."