The question irritated him because he had already been asked a version of it by Maya.
“So I would know.”
“Know what?”
“Who I was dealing with.”
Another silence.
Then his assistant said:
“Doug.”
He hated when employees shortened his name in that tone.
“What?”
“I don't think that makes this sound better.”
He ended the call.
Two hours later, his managing partner called.
That conversation was worse.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Douglas gave his version.
Seat confusion.
Bag dispute.
Overreaction.
Security.
Maya’s identity.
The managing partner listened.
Then asked:
“Did she threaten you?”
“No.”
“Raise her voice?”
“Not really.”
“Touch you?”
“No.”
“Were you instructed not to move her luggage?”
“Yes, but…”
“And you moved it?”
“I was trying to clear the compartment.”
“Doug.”
“There was no room.”
The managing partner had already spoken with Peter, the junior colleague.
There had been room.
A lot of room.
He said:
“Peter says you told her she didn’t belong in that section.”
Douglas exhaled.
“That is being taken out of context.”
“What context?”
“Her account looked wrong.”
“How would you know anything about her account?”
Douglas stopped.
He had no access to passenger records.
He knew it.
The managing partner knew it.
“You assumed.”
Douglas said nothing.
The partner continued.
“Then you asked for security.”
“Yes.”
“And security removed you.”
“They overreacted.”
A long pause.
“Take the commercial flight home.”
“What about Denver?”
“You’re not going.”
Douglas straightened.
“I’m leading the pitch.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because she complained?”
“She hasn’t.”
Douglas frowned.
“What?”
“We haven’t heard from Maya Carter.”
“That proves my point.”
“No.”
The partner’s voice became harder.
“It proves we’re dealing with the consequences before the client asks us to.”
Douglas looked around the terminal.
People walked past him.
Nobody knew who he was.
That bothered him too.
His managing partner continued.
“You will send a factual written account.”
“No spin.”
“No conclusions.”
“Actions only.”
Douglas almost laughed.
“You sound like a compliance officer.”
“Today I am.”
The call ended.
For the first time, Douglas sat down.
Really sat.
Not waiting.
Not planning.
Not demanding correction.
He replayed the cabin.
Maya.
Seat 1A.
Her laptop.
The bag.
Her sentence.
You don’t need to know who I am to treat a person with minimum respect.
He hated that sentence.
Not because it was wrong.
Because every defense he had constructed depended on avoiding it.
If she had been the CEO, he was obviously foolish.