The old membership interface had not been updated in years. Marisol knew it from helping elderly travelers whose accounts predated the mobile application. She entered 001 into the legacy lookup field and pressed SEARCH. The screen paused long enough for her to think the program had frozen.
Then the record appeared.
The record displayed: SOLSTICE CLUB; FOUNDING MEMBER 001; CONSTANCE ELEANOR REED; LIFETIME PRIVILEGES; ORIGINAL ENROLLMENT VERIFIED. A small photograph accompanied the record, showing a younger woman with the same alert eyes and the same deliberate tilt of the head. Beneath the photograph was a note from corporate membership services: BOARD CHAIRWOMAN; DO NOT MODIFY WITHOUT EXECUTIVE AUTHORIZATION.
Marisol read it twice. She opened the membership history and found entry 002, Walter Thomas Reed, deceased. Entry 003 was blank, marked FOUNDER'S RESERVE. The rest of the membership register continued with thousands of ordinary names. For a moment the numbers meant nothing; then the room around her seemed to shift.
"Oh, no," she whispered.
She reached for the internal directory and typed Constance Reed. The results showed the founder of Solstice Airways, chairwoman of its board, and the face featured in the company's own employee orientation materials. It was the woman in the stained coat. The person they had just removed was not simply a member. She was the reason there was a lounge to remove her from.
Marisol stood so quickly that her chair rolled backward. She carried the card and papers into the concourse, past the coffee shops and departure boards, searching the benches. Constance was exactly where Dale had indicated, seated quietly in the light from the tall windows. Her hands were folded over the damaged sleeve, and she looked less like a billionaire than an exhausted grandmother waiting for somebody to remember her.
"Ma'am," Marisol said, breathless. "You forgot these."
Constance looked up. "You took them out of the bin?"
Marisol nodded. "I typed in the number first. The system says founding member." Her voice dropped. "It says you're Constance Reed. The chairwoman."
"It does."
"I should have checked earlier. I'm sorry."
"You tried," Constance said. "Someone stopped you. Those are different things."
Marisol held out the card with both hands. Constance accepted it, brushing a speck of paper dust from the brass edge. The little piece of membership history felt suddenly heavy.
"What is your name, dear?"
"Marisol Vega. I've worked here three years."
"Then you know what that lounge is supposed to be."
Marisol looked back toward the frosted glass doors. "I thought I did," she admitted. "Lately I'm not sure anybody in charge remembers."
Constance considered her for a moment. Then she drew out her phone and called the person who had been waiting for her signal.
"Daniel," she said when he answered. "Change of plans. Bring the board to the lounge."
"The entire board?" His voice sharpened immediately. "Grandma, what happened?"
"Come first. Ask questions when you get here."
She ended the call and looked at Marisol's anxious face. "Someone is going to need a very good lounge manager," she said. "And I think I've just met one."