Sullivan let out a derisive snort. "You sure you're in the right row, sweetheart? Main cabin boards through the second door. They usually don't let standby upgrades sit in the flagship suites. " Vivian didn't flinch. She simply took another measured sip of her champagne, placing the flute back on the console.
"I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Thank you for your concern. " She reached for her headphones, signaling the end of the interaction. But for a man like Greg Sullivan, being dismissed by someone he deemed beneath him was an unforgivable offense. His face darkened. The veins in his thick neck began to strain against his collar.
"Look, I don't know whose miles you're burning or if the gate agent just felt sorry for you. " Sullivan pushed, his voice raising a decibel, drawing the attention of an investment banker in seat 2A and an older socialite in 1D. "But people pay good money for these seats to get away from the riffraff. Let me see your boarding pass. " Vivian paused, her hand hovering over her headphones. She turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto his with a piercing intensity that would have made a lesser man wither. "I beg your pardon? " she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register.
"You heard me. " Sullivan demanded, jutting his chin out aggressively. "Show me your boarding pass. I want to see if you actually belong in 1A. " "And who exactly are you? " Vivian asked, her tone laced with absolute authority. "Because unless you are wearing an American Airlines uniform and are currently being paid to check tickets, my boarding pass is none of your business. " Sullivan's jaw tightened. He reached into the inner pocket of his leather jacket and whipped out a battered leather wallet.
He flipped it open, aggressively thrusting a gold NYPD detective's shield into Vivian's line of sight. "I'm Detective Greg Sullivan, NYPD. " he growled, a smug, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. "And as a sworn officer of the law, I'm making it my business. You look suspicious. You're acting evasive.
Now produce the ticket or I'm going to have you removed from this aircraft. " The cabin went dead silent. The faint jazz music playing over the aircraft speakers suddenly felt absurdly out of place. Passengers craned their necks. In seat 2A, William Davis, an executive vice president at Goldman Sachs, quietly reached into his suit pocket, pulled out his iPhone, and discreetly angled the camera lens toward row one, pressing record. Vivian stared at the gold shield, then looked back up at Sullivan's flushed, victorious face.
She didn't show a fraction of the fear or compliance he was so used to extracting from people. Instead, she let out a short, hollow laugh. "You're an NYPD detective," Vivian stated clearly, ensuring her voice carried down the aisle. "And we are currently sitting on a commercial aircraft regulated by the Federal Aviation Administration waiting to depart, which means your badge has as much authority here as a library card. " Detective Sullivan. Sullivan's smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of genuine rage.
He wasn't used to being challenged, especially not publicly, and certainly not by a black woman he had already profiled and dismissed in his mind. ""Listen to me, you arrogant little—" "Is there a problem here? " Natalie, the senior purser, had practically sprinted from the front galley, her face pale with concern. She stepped between the two suites, looking frantically from Vivian to the seething detective. "Yes, there is a problem, flight attendant," Sullivan barked, pointing a thick, accusatory finger at Vivian. "This woman is refusing to verify her identity or her seating assignment. As a law enforcement officer, I'm telling you she is acting suspicious and uncooperative.