You can't be in here. He positioned himself between Diane and her aircraft, arms spread wide as if she were an intruder trying to breach security. Diane stopped walking, confusion and irritation woring on her face. Excuse me. Brian was breathing hard, his face flushed red.
This is a restricted area. Aircraft owners and authorized personnel only. You need to leave immediately. He pulled a radio from his belt, thumb hovering over the transmit button. Diane took a slow breath, fighting to keep her voice calm.
I understand. This is my aircraft. I'm Diane Cooper, owner of this Gulfream G650. She gestured toward the plane behind him. Brian's expression shifted to something between disbelief and amusement.
His lips curled into a smirk. Right. And I'm the president of the United States. He laughed, a short bark of sound that echoed through the hanger. The laugh hit Diane like a physical blow.
She had been doubted before, questioned, dismissed. But outright mockery here at her own aircraft was a new level of disrespect. "I'm not joking," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "That is my plane. " November 650 Delta Charlie registered to Cooper Technologies, of which I am founder and CEO. Now, please step aside so I can board.
Brian's smirk didn't fade. Lady, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you need to leave before I call the police. We get people trying to sneak onto these planes all the time. You think you're the first person to make up some story? Diane felt something crack inside her.
She pulled out her phone, fingers moving with deliberate precision. She opened her photo app and began taking pictures of the aircraft, focusing on the tail number, the Cooper Technologies logo, the custom paint scheme she had personally selected. "What are you doing? " Brian demanded, stepping closer. "Documenting my own property," Diane replied, her voice ice cold now. "And documenting your refusal to allow the owner access to her aircraft? " Brian's face darkened.
That's it. I'm calling security. He lifted the radio to his mouth. Security, this is ground ops. We have an unauthorized individual in hangar 7.
Need immediate assistance. Diane's heart pounded. This was insane. She was standing next to her own $65 million aircraft, being treated like a criminal. She quickly dialed Captain Richard's number, praying he would answer.
The call went straight to voicemail. She tried the co-pilot. No answer. Where was her flight crew? They should be here, preparing for departure.
Brian was watching her with suspicious eyes, radio still in hand. Trying to call your accompllices, he sneered. Diane ignored him, scrolling through her contacts. She found the direct number for the airport's operations manager, someone she had met during the purchase process. Before she could dial, she heard footsteps.