No statements, no apologies, no social media, nothing. But people are calling me racist, Graham. They're saying I should be fired. The company's phones are probably ringing off the hook. The company will weather this.
We've handled worse scandals. Graham's tone shifted slightly, becoming more authoritative. Come directly to headquarters. Use the garage entrance on 42nd. We'll figure out damage control once you're here.
Meanwhile, back at the gate, Malcolm remained seated in the waiting area while other passengers continued filing out. He watched Vanessa's hurried exit without expression, his duffel bag resting calmly beside his chair. Tiana approached hesitantly, her flight attendant uniform now feeling heavier than usual. She'd changed out of her service jacket, but her name tag still read Brooks in small black letters. Mr.
Reed? Her voice was soft, uncertain. You wanted to speak with me? Malcolm looked up, his face kind but serious. I need an official incident report, Ms.
Brooks. What you witnessed today, what you heard, everything that happened from your professional perspective. Tiana's hands twisted together nervously. Sir, I'm not sure I should get involved in whatever this is becoming. I have a job to protect, a career.
I understand your concern, Malcolm said gently. But sometimes protecting our jobs means protecting the truth first. What if Oralene retaliates against me? What if they say I mishandled the situation? What if they claim I should have done more to prevent the confrontation?
Malcolm studied her face for a long moment. Miss Brooks, how long have you been with the airline? 12 Years, Tiana answered automatically. 12 Years of handling difficult passengers, managing conflicts, keeping people safe at 30,000 ft. You know the difference between right and wrong better than most people ever will.
Malcolm's voice carried quiet conviction. What happened today wasn't a passenger service issue. It was something much bigger. Tiana looked toward the gate where Vanessa had disappeared, then back at Malcolm. She thought about the cruel words, the raised middle finger, the way Vanessa had treated another human being like garbage.
Simply based on appearance. I'll write the report, she said finally. Everything I saw, everything I heard. Meanwhile, Vanessa had made it to baggage claim, still clutching her phone. The automatic doors slid open, revealing the chaos of New York arrival traffic.
Yellow cabs honked, buses rumbled, and people moved in streams toward their destinations. But something was wrong. A cluster of people with cameras and microphones stood near the taxi stand, scanning arriving passengers with predatory attention. "Vanessa Whitmore," a woman's voice called out sharply. "Cal 7 News, can you comment on the viral video from tonight's flight?" Vanessa's blood turned to ice.
They'd identified her already, her face, her name, her company. Everything was public now. Ms. Whitmore. Another voice joined the first.