“You cannot distribute random documents to staff.”
The Billionaire Mother almost admired the absurdity.
The documents she was preventing staff from reading transferred ownership of the terminal itself.
“Take your hand off the folder.”
The attendant’s eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“It belongs to me.”
Slowly, the woman removed her hand.
The Billionaire Mother took the folder back.
The security guards exchanged a glance.
The first guard said:
“I’m going to call operations.”
The Terminal Attendant spun toward him.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
She lowered her voice.
“I’ve already handled the verification.”
The guard frowned.
“You called us.”
“Yes.”
“So let us verify.”
The attendant’s composure began cracking.
“You’re security.”
“Correct.”
“You do not override client services.”
“I’m not overriding anything.”
The Billionaire Mother remained silent.
This was no longer her argument.
That helped.
The guard reached for his radio.
The attendant stepped closer.
“Do not make this bigger than it needs to be.”
The Little Girl looked up at her mother.
“That’s what you said.”
The Billionaire Mother almost smiled.
“Yes.”
The child whispered:
“She’s copying you.”
The mother squeezed her hand.
“Quiet.”
The guard radioed operations.
No immediate response.
The Terminal Attendant looked satisfied.
“See?”
Then a low mechanical sound rolled through the building.
Not loud at first.
A vibration.
Deep.
Heavy.
Everybody near the windows turned.
The Little Girl’s face brightened.
“Mom.”
The Billionaire Mother looked toward the enormous glass wall.
Outside, Hangar Three’s doors had begun opening.
Sunlight poured through the widening gap.
A polished silver nose appeared.
Then cockpit windows.
Then the sweeping fuselage of a large Gulfstream aircraft.
The Little Girl bounced once.
“That’s ours.”
Several travelers looked at her.
The Terminal Attendant laughed.
“Sweetheart, there are many aircraft here.”
The child ignored her.
The aircraft began taxiing slowly toward the private boarding apron.
Ground crew moved into position.
The Terminal Attendant looked toward her computer screen.
Something there caught her attention.
Her face changed.
The Billionaire Mother noticed.
An aircraft movement line had probably appeared.
Tail assignment.
Gate position.
Passenger initials.
Maybe only corporate code.
Enough to create doubt.
The attendant typed.
Fast now.
Her lips parted.
Then closed.
She clicked again.
The Billionaire Mother said nothing.
The security guards watched her.
“What?”
one asked.
The attendant shook her head.
“Nothing.”
The aircraft stopped directly outside the terminal.
The cabin door opened.
Stairs descended.
A Senior Pilot appeared.