Flight Attendant Refused to Let the Black Twins Sit In First Class — Until Their CEO Father Arrived
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Flight Attendant Refused to Let the Black Twins Sit in First Class — Until Their CEO Father Arrived
The first-class cabin fell into an uneasy silence as Dominique Carter revealed his company badge. The same flight attendant who had spent twenty minutes trying to remove his children now stammered apologies. But it was too late. His phone was already recording, and by tomorrow, the airline would learn what discrimination really costs.
Jamal Carter was a man who never took anything for granted. At 45, he had built NextTech Solutions from a humble garage startup into a cybersecurity powerhouse valued at $2.3 billion. As one of the few Black-owned tech firms to break into the Fortune 500, Jamal knew every success came with twice the scrutiny and half the forgiveness afforded to his white counterparts.
That morning, sunlight filtered softly through the windows of their Atlanta home as Jamal reviewed his children’s competition materials one last time. His sixteen-year-old twins, Zora and Zire Carter, had inherited his analytical mind and their late mother’s creative spirit—a combination that had earned them spots at the prestigious National Youth STEM Innovation Challenge in San Francisco.
“You got your presentation backed up in three different places?” Jamal asked, handing Zora her tablet.
Zora rolled her eyes affectionately. “Cloud storage, external drive, email, plus hard copies. Seriously, Dad. You taught us better than that.”
Jamal smiled, pride evident in his eyes. This competition could open doors he had to break down himself.
Zire adjusted his glasses nervously, a habit he’d developed since childhood. “The judges are from MIT, Stanford, and Google. If we place in the top three—”
“When you place in the top three,” Jamal corrected, placing a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.
Growing up on Chicago’s South Side, Jamal had promised himself that if he ever had children, they would never face the limitations he had. His own father had worked double shifts at a factory for thirty years, saving every penny for Jamal’s education. That sacrifice had gotten him to a state college where he had slept more often in the computer lab than his dorm room, developing the security algorithms that would become NextTech’s foundation.
Their driver loaded their luggage into the company car as Jamal reviewed his schedule. The twins would be in San Francisco for five days. He planned to attend the first two days of the competition before flying back for a crucial board meeting.
Atlanta International Airport buzzed with the usual morning rush as their car pulled up to the departures terminal. At the first-class check-in counter, Jamal’s phone rang. The screen displayed his COO’s name, Sydney Williams.
“I need to take this,” he told the twins, stepping aside. “Go ahead and get your boarding passes.”
Sydney’s voice was tense. “We’ve got a situation with the Department of Defense contract. Their security team claims our encryption protocol has a backdoor vulnerability.”
Jamal’s jaw clenched. The DoD contract represented nearly thirty percent of their projected revenue for the next fiscal year. “That’s impossible,” he said.
“We’ve run penetration tests for months. They’re threatening to pull out unless we address it immediately. Their team is standing by for an emergency conference call.”
Jamal checked his watch. Their flight was boarding in forty minutes. “Set it up. I’ll find somewhere quiet.”
He returned to the twins, now holding their first-class boarding passes and looking at him expectantly.
“Emergency at work,” he explained. “I need to handle this before we board.”
Zora’s face fell slightly. “But we’re boarding soon.”
“I know, sweetheart. Listen, you two go ahead to the gate. I’ll join you before takeoff. If I’m cutting it close, just board without me and save my seat.” He handed them each one hundred dollars. “Get whatever you want at the terminal.”
Zire nodded seriously, always the more practical twin. “We’ve got this, Dad. Go save the company again.”
Zora added with a grin, “Yeah, go save the company.”
Jamal watched them walk toward security—Zora’s vibrant blue braids bouncing against her shoulders, Zire’s tall frame already drawing looks from passersby. He felt the familiar twinge of worry that came with being a Black father in America. He had taught them how to move through the world, how to be exceptional without being threatening, how to stand their ground without escalating situations. Lessons no parent should have to teach.
As Jamal hurried to the airline’s business lounge, he missed the sideways glances the twins received as they moved through the terminal. He missed the way an elderly white woman clutched her purse tighter as Zire passed. He missed the TSA agent who checked Zora’s ID twice while waving through white teenagers behind her.
The twins, however, noticed it all. They had been noticing such things since they were old enough to understand the subtle language of prejudice. But today, they were focused on the competition ahead. They had earned their place, and nothing would distract them from showing the world exactly what they could do.
Gate 7 was already crowded when Zora and Zire arrived. The digital display showed their flight to San Francisco would begin boarding in fifteen minutes. They found seats near the gate. Zire immediately pulled out his tablet to review their presentation while Zora scanned the growing crowd.
“First class passengers will begin boarding shortly,” announced a gate agent, a thin man with a name tag reading Benjamin Roberts. Several business travelers gathered their belongings, mostly older white men in expensive suits.
Zora nudged her brother. “That’s us, too.”
Zire looked up from his tablet, momentarily disoriented as he shifted focus from complex algorithms to the present moment. “Right. Dad’s still not here.”
Zora checked her phone. No messages.
“He said to go ahead if he’s running late.”
They collected their carry-ons and moved toward the priority boarding line.
A flight attendant with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a tight smile stood checking boarding passes. Her name tag read Heather Blackwell.
“Boarding passes, please,” she said as an older white couple presented their tickets. She scanned them quickly, her smile widening. “Welcome aboard, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Enjoy your flight.”
When the twins stepped forward, her smile faded.
“Boarding passes.”
Zora handed over both their passes. “We’re in first class. Seats 3A and 3B.”
Heather’s eyes narrowed as she examined their passes with unusual scrutiny. She looked from the passes to their faces several times, her expression growing increasingly skeptical.
“These are first-class tickets,” she stated as though they might be unaware.
“Yes,” Zire confirmed politely. “Our father booked them.”
“And where is your father?” Heather asked, looking past them as though expecting to find an adult.
“He’s on a business call. He’ll be joining us shortly,” Zora explained, maintaining her composure despite the growing discomfort.
Heather’s lips pursed. “I see.”
“And who purchased these tickets?”
Behind them, a white businessman in his fifties cleared his throat impatiently. The twins exchanged a quick glance, recognizing the familiar pattern of questioning that rarely happened to their white peers.
“Our father did,” Zire repeated. “Jamal Carter. He’s the CEO of NextTech Solutions.”
“NextTech,” Heather repeated slowly as though testing the veracity of the name.
“I’m not familiar with that company.”
“It’s a cybersecurity firm,” Zora offered, her patience thinning. “Now, can we board? Our seats are confirmed.”
Instead of returning their boarding passes, Heather turned to her colleague. “Benjamin, could you come here for a moment?”
The gate agent approached, his expression neutral but curious.
“These two young people have first-class tickets,” Heather explained, emphasizing “young people” in a way that made it clear she found this suspicious. Their father supposedly purchased them, but isn’t present.”
Benjamin took the boarding passes, examining them with the same unwarranted scrutiny.
“These were purchased yesterday… three weeks ago, actually.”
Zire corrected, “Our father always books in advance.”
The businessman behind them stepped forward.
“Excuse me. Is there a problem? These kids have valid tickets, right?”
“Sir, we’re just verifying some information,” Benjamin responded curtly. “You can proceed to the general boarding line if you’re in a hurry.”
“I’m in first class, too,” the man said, “and I don’t appreciate the delay or the apparent profiling I’m witnessing.”
Heather’s face flushed.
“Sir, we’re simply following protocol for unaccompanied minors.”
“We’re sixteen,” Zora interjected. “We don’t require accompaniment.”
“And I’d wager you’re not checking everyone’s ID this thoroughly,” the businessman added.
More passengers were beginning to notice the holdup. Whispers spread through the gate area. The twins felt the weight of dozens of eyes upon them—some curious, some annoyed, some sympathetic.
Benjamin pulled Heather aside for a whispered conversation. The twins could only catch fragments: legitimate tickets, no policy against, and causing a scene.
Meanwhile, Zora tried calling their father, but the call went straight to voicemail.
“Dad, we’re having some trouble boarding. Call me back when you can.”
She turned to her brother. “He must still be on that conference call.”
After what felt like an eternity, Heather and Benjamin returned.
Benjamin forced a professional smile. “We need to verify these tickets with the ticketing desk. If you could step aside for a moment.”
“Why?” Zire asked, his voice steady but firm. “Our tickets are valid.”
“You’ve already checked them.”
“It’s just a precaution,” Heather insisted.
“There have been instances of ticket fraud recently.”
The businessman scoffed loudly. “Funny how ticket fraud only seems to happen to certain passengers.”
Benjamin shot him a warning look before turning back to the twins. “This won’t take long.”
The other passengers needed to board.
Reluctantly, Zora and Zire stepped to the side.
The businessman handed his ticket to Heather, who scanned it with a quick glance and gestured him aboard with a smile.
One by one, the remaining first-class passengers boarded, none subjected to the same scrutiny as the twins.
As they waited, more passengers filed past them, business class then general boarding groups.
Each passing minute increased their humiliation.
Students from their school would never believe they flew first class if they boarded last with group six.
“This is ridiculous,” Zora muttered. “Dad is going to be furious.”
After twenty excruciating minutes, during which they watched nearly half the plane board, Benjamin finally approached them again.
“We verified your tickets. You can board now.”
No apology, no explanation for the delay, just a reluctant admission that the tickets they knew were legitimate were in fact legitimate.
As they finally walked down the jetway, Zire whispered to his sister, “Should we text Dad and worry him during his call?”
“Let’s wait until he gets here,” Zora decided. “Besides, the worst part is over.”
Unfortunately for the Carter twins, their ordeal was just beginning.
The interior of the Boeing 787 gleamed with the sterile luxury of first class. Wide leather seats reclined nearly flat. Personal entertainment screens displayed welcome messages, and flight attendants offered pre-departure beverages to already seated passengers.
As Zora and Zire made their way down the aisle, they felt the stares of curious passengers who had witnessed their delayed boarding. Heather Blackwell had boarded ahead of them and was now arranging items in a galley at the front of the cabin. When she spotted the twins entering, her smile vanished. She watched them like a security guard monitoring suspected shoplifters.
“3A and 3B,” Zire murmured, pointing to their assigned seats by the window and middle of the third row.
An older white passenger in 3C looked up from his newspaper, momentarily surprised as the twins approached. Zora offered a polite smile as she stowed her backpack in the overhead bin.
“Excuse me,” she said as she needed to pass by him to reach her window seat.
The man hesitated but then stood to let them through, his expression unreadable.
No sooner had they settled into their seats than Heather appeared, hovering over them.
“May I see your boarding passes again?” she asked, her voice artificially sweet but her eyes hard.
Zora sighed but produced her pass from her pocket. Zire did the same.
Heather examined them with exaggerated care.
“There seems to be some confusion. These seats are in first class.”
“Yes,” Zire replied evenly. “That’s why we’re sitting in them.”
“There must be a mistake,” Heather insisted. “These seats are typically reserved for our premium customers.”
A woman across the aisle looked up sharply. She was a striking Black woman in her forties with natural hair styled in an elegant updo, wearing a cashmere sweater and designer glasses. She observed the interaction with growing concern.
“Our tickets are correct,” Zora stated firmly. “You’ve already verified them twice.”
Heather’s smile tightened. “Perhaps you misunderstood the boarding process. These may be standby upgrades that weren’t properly processed. I’m sure your actual seats are in economy.”
“No,” Zire said, his voice still calm but now edged with frustration. “Our father purchased these first-class tickets specifically. There’s no misunderstanding.”
“And where is your father?” Heather asked again, though she’d already heard the answer at the gate.
“He’s joining us shortly. He’s finishing a business call,” Zora replied.
The woman across the aisle finally spoke up. “Excuse me, but is there a problem? These young people have shown their boarding passes multiple times.”
Heather’s attention snapped to the woman.
“This doesn’t concern you, ma’am.”
“Actually, I think it does,” the woman replied, her voice carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being heard. “I’m Dr. Amara Washington, and I’m concerned about the treatment these passengers are receiving.”
Heather’s expression flickered with recognition of Dr. Washington’s title but quickly recovered.
“I’m simply ensuring everyone is in their assigned seats. Doctor, it’s standard procedure.”
“Is it standard procedure to question the same passengers three times when their documentation is in order?” Dr. Washington asked pointedly.
Before Heather could respond, a man in a flight attendant uniform with a supervisor pin approached.
“Is there an issue here, Heather?”
“Mr. Parker,” Heather said with visible relief. “These young people claim to have first-class tickets, but there seems to be some confusion about their seating assignment.”
The supervisor, Gregory Parker, was a balding man with a perpetual frown. He glanced at the twins, then at their boarding passes, which Heather now held.
“Who purchased these tickets?” he asked, bypassing the twins entirely and addressing Heather.
“They say their father did, but he’s not on board,” Heather replied before either twin could answer.
“He’s coming,” Zora insisted.
“He’s finishing an important business call in the terminal.”
Gregory’s frown deepened.
“I see. Well, until he arrives, perhaps you should wait in your actual assigned seats.”
“These are our assigned seats,” Zire said, his composure finally beginning to crack. “3A and 3B. It’s printed right there on the boarding passes you’re holding.”
Other passengers were now openly watching the confrontation. Some looked uncomfortable, others merely curious, and a few were recording discreetly with their phones.
Gregory lowered his voice. “Listen, there’s clearly been a mistake. First-class tickets are very expensive. Perhaps your father intended to purchase economy seats.”
The implication was clear: people like them couldn’t afford first class.
Dr. Washington stood up. “Excuse me, but this is becoming ridiculous. Their boarding passes clearly show first-class seats. On what grounds are you questioning their right to be here?”
Gregory turned to her with a strange smile. “Ma’am, please return to your seat. We’re handling this situation.”
“You’re handling it poorly,” she replied. “And I believe we all know why these particular passengers are being singled out.”
A few murmurs of agreement came from nearby passengers. Others looked away uncomfortably.
Gregory’s face hardened. “Ma’am, interfering with flight crew duties is against federal regulations. Please sit down immediately.”
Dr. Washington held her ground but returned to her seat, still watching intently.
Gregory turned back to the twins. “I’m going to have to ask you to move to economy class until we can sort this out. We have a full flight today, and we need to begin our departure procedures.”
“But these are our seats,” Zora protested, tears of frustration beginning to form in her eyes.
“Either move to economy voluntarily or we’ll have to consider you disruptive passengers,” Gregory stated flatly. “Your choice.”
The unfairness of it all hit Zire like a physical blow. They had done nothing wrong. Their tickets were legitimate. Their seats were assigned. Yet they were being treated like criminals for simply existing in a space where people who looked like them weren’t expected to be.
“Fine,” he said, finally standing up. “But I want your names and employee numbers. Both of you.”
Gregory ignored the request. “Heather will show you to available seats in economy.”
As they gathered their belongings, Dr. Washington pulled out her phone.
“I’m documenting this entire incident,” she announced. “And I’ll be filing a formal complaint with the airline and the FAA.”
Gregory shot her a warning look but didn’t respond.
Several other passengers had their phones out now, too.
Humiliated and angry, the twins followed Heather toward the back of the plane, aware of dozens of eyes tracking their retreat from the privileged space they had rightfully purchased.
What none of them realized was that Jamal Carter had just finished his emergency conference call and was now rushing toward the gate, completely unaware of what his children were enduring.
The walk of shame from first class to economy felt endless. Each step down the narrow aisle burned into Zora and Zire’s memories as they passed row after row of curious, judgmental, or pitying eyes.
Heather led them with brisk efficiency, clearly eager to resolve what she considered a disruption to her routine.
“These should work,” she said, stopping at row 27, where two middle seats were available in a completely full row.
“The overhead bins in this section were already packed to capacity,” she added.
“Our carry-ons?” Zire pointed out.
“There’s no space up here.”
Heather glanced at their bags dismissively. “They’ll need to be gate-checked then.”
“But they have our competition materials,” Zora protested, her voice breaking slightly. “We need them with us.”
“You should have thought of that before trying to sit in seats you didn’t purchase,” Heather muttered just loud enough for them to hear.
Zora froze. The accumulated stress, humiliation, and injustice of the past hour finally broke through her composed exterior. Tears spilled down her cheeks despite her desperate attempt to hold them back.
“We did purchase those seats,” she said, her voice wavering but loud enough that nearby passengers turned to look. “Our father paid for them. We had the boarding passes. You checked them three times.”
Heather’s eyes widened at the outburst.
“Lower your voice immediately or you will be removed from this flight.”
Zire, normally the quiet one who avoided confrontation, stepped forward.
“No. This is wrong and you know it. You never questioned anyone else’s tickets like this. You never made anyone else move from their assigned seats. Just us. Why is that?”
A flight attendant from economy approached, concerned by the commotion.
“What’s happening here?”
“These two were attempting to sit in first class without proper tickets,” Heather explained quickly. “We’re relocating them to their correct seats.”
“That’s a lie,” Zire said firmly. “We have first-class tickets. She knows it. The gate agent knew it. They just decided we don’t belong there.”
The economy flight attendant, a young Asian woman whose name tag read Lily Chen, looked uncertainly between the twins and Heather.
“I need to see the captain,” Zora demanded through her tears. “This is discrimination, and we’re not going to just accept it.”
Heather’s face hardened. “That’s enough. You’re causing a disturbance.”
Several passengers had begun recording the confrontation on their phones.
One older Black man stood up from his seat.
“Let them show their boarding passes again. What’s the harm in that, sir?”
“Please remain seated,” Heather ordered. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Seems like it concerns all of us when we see kids being treated unfairly,” he replied.
From the front of the plane, Gregory Parker was making his way back toward the commotion. Behind him, Dr. Washington followed, clearly unwilling to let the situation unfold without witness.
“What’s the problem now?” Gregory demanded as he reached them.
“They’re refusing to take their seats and inciting other passengers,” Heather reported.
“That’s not true,” Zora protested. “We just want to sit in the seats we paid for.”
Gregory leaned in, lowering his voice to a threatening whisper.
“Listen carefully. I’ve already contacted the air marshal on board. One more outburst and you’ll both be escorted off this plane and added to the no-fly list. Is that what you want?”
Zire’s eyes widened. The no-fly list would mean they’d miss their competition. All their work, all their preparation gone because of this man’s prejudice.
Dr. Washington pushed forward. “That is absolutely inappropriate. You’re threatening minors for requesting fair treatment.”
“Ma’am, this is your final warning to return to your seat,” Gregory snapped. “Or what? You’ll have me removed too for witnessing discrimination?”
Dr. Washington challenged him.
The tension in the cabin was palpable. Other passengers began speaking up, some supporting the twins, others complaining about the delay. The situation was spiraling out of control.
Gregory pulled out his radio. “I need security to the aircraft for passenger removal.”
Lily, the economy flight attendant, placed a gentle hand on Zora’s shoulder.
“Maybe you should sit for now, and we can sort this out once we’re in the air,” she suggested kindly.
Defeated and devastated, Zora nodded.
“What choice did they have? They couldn’t miss their competition. Their team was counting on them. Their school was counting on them.”
As they reluctantly began to sit in the cramped middle seats, a voice rang out from the front of the plane.
“What the hell is going on with my children?”
Everyone turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed Black man standing in the entryway of the aircraft. His expression was a mixture of confusion and growing anger.
Jamal Carter had arrived.
Jamal Carter cut an imposing figure as he strode down the aisle of the aircraft. At 6’2”, with broad shoulders draped in a custom-tailored charcoal suit, he commanded attention even before people recognized who he was. His closely cropped hair showed distinguished touches of gray at the temples, and his expression was one of controlled fury as he took in the scene before him.
“Dad,” Zora called out, relief washing over her tear-stained face.
Passengers who had been watching the drama unfold shifted their attention to this new development, many still recording with their phones. Gregory Parker’s confident demeanor faltered slightly as he registered the newcomer’s executive presence.
“Sir, are you with these passengers?” Gregory asked, attempting to maintain his authoritative tone.
“These passengers,” Jamal said evenly, “are my children, and they appear to be standing in economy class despite having first-class tickets that I personally purchased three weeks ago.”
Heather stepped forward, her customer service smile snapping back into place. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding, sir. We were just trying to—”
“I heard what you were trying to do,” Jamal interrupted, his voice deceptively calm. “I was on the jetway for the last three minutes listening to you threaten my sixteen-year-old children with removal from this flight and placement on a no-fly list.”
The color drained from Gregory’s face.
“Sir, I believe you misheard.”
“I don’t believe I did,” Jamal countered. “And neither did the dozens of passengers who witnessed this interaction, some of whom, I notice, have been recording it.”
Jamal turned to his children. “Zora, Zire, are you okay?”
They nodded, though Zora was still fighting back tears and Zire’s jaw was clenched tight with suppressed anger.
“Get your things,” Jamal instructed. “We’re going back to our assigned seats.”
As the twins collected their carry-ons, Jamal turned his attention back to the flight crew.
“I’d like your names and employee numbers, both of you.”
Heather glanced nervously at Gregory, who had shifted into damage control mode.
“Sir, I apologize for any confusion. If you’d like to discuss this privately—”
“There’s nothing to discuss privately,” Jamal stated firmly. “My children were publicly humiliated. Any resolution will also be public.”
He pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card, offering it to Gregory.
“My name is Jamal Carter. I’m the CEO of NextTech Solutions.”
Gregory hesitantly took the card, his eyes widening slightly as he recognized the name of the prominent cybersecurity firm.
“I’m also a platinum elite member of your airline’s frequent flyer program,” Jamal continued, pulling out his membership card. “I fly over 75,000 miles annually with your company, usually in first class. Now, would you like to explain to me why my children were removed from the seats I purchased for them?”
The dynamic in the cabin shifted dramatically. Passengers who had been watching murmured among themselves, some nodding in approval at Jamal’s calm but forceful approach.
Gregory swallowed hard.
“Mr. Carter, there was simply a misunderstanding about the validity of their tickets. We have protocols.”
“What protocols specifically require you to question the same boarding passes three times?” Jamal asked. “What protocols require you to assume my children stole or fraudulently obtained first-class tickets? What protocols allow you to threaten minors with a no-fly list for requesting to sit in their assigned seats?”
Heather interjected, “Sir, we would have treated any unaccompanied minors the same way.”
“They’re sixteen,” Jamal cut in. “They don’t require accompaniment under your airline’s own policies, which I checked before booking their tickets. And somehow I doubt you’ve removed any white teenagers from first class today.”
Dr. Washington approached from her seat.
“Mr. Carter, I witnessed the entire incident. I’m Dr. Amara Washington. I was sitting across from your children in first class when this began. They were singled out from the moment they tried to board.”
Jamal nodded appreciatively to her.
“Thank you, Doctor. I’d appreciate your contact information later.”
He turned back to Gregory and Heather.
“Now, we’re going to return to our assigned seats in first class. Then, you’re going to explain to your captain why this flight is delayed and why I’ll be filing a formal complaint with your airline CEO, whom I happen to know personally.”
As they began moving toward the front of the plane, Jamal placed protective hands on his children’s shoulders. Other passengers made way, some offering supportive nods or whispered encouragement.
What Gregory and Heather didn’t know, what no one yet realized, was that from the moment Jamal had stepped onto the plane and heard his children being threatened, he had been recording audio on his phone, which was tucked discreetly in his breast pocket.
This wasn’t the first time Jamal had encountered discrimination, nor was it the first time he had needed to defend himself or his family from prejudice.
Growing up on Chicago’s South Side, he had learned early that as a Black man, his word alone would rarely be enough. Evidence was essential. Documentation was power.
After losing his wife to cancer when the twins were just seven, Jamal had become even more protective. He had sat them down for the talk when they were twelve—not just about how to interact with police but how to navigate a world that would often see their skin before seeing their character or accomplishments.
“Document everything,” he had told them. “Your word against theirs will always be questioned. Evidence speaks louder than accusations.”
As they reached the first-class cabin, the passengers there were watching with interest. The businessman who had defended them at the gate nodded to Jamal in recognition and approval.
Gregory attempted one last face-saving maneuver.
“Mr. Carter, we apologize for the misunderstanding. Sometimes our staff must make quick judgments for security purposes.”
Jamal stopped and turned to face him directly.
“This wasn’t a security judgment. This was profiling, pure and simple. And I won’t let it pass.”
He held up his phone, revealing the active recording.
“I’ve documented this entire interaction, starting from when I heard you threatening my children on the jetway. Now, I’d like to speak with your captain before this plane leaves the gate.”
Gregory’s face went pale.
Heather took an involuntary step backward.
“I’ll—I’ll inform the captain,” Gregory stammered.
All pretense of authority now evaporated.
As the twins settled back into their rightful seats with Jamal taking his seat beside them, Dr. Washington leaned across the aisle.
“Your children handled themselves with remarkable dignity under terrible circumstances,” she said quietly. “They should be proud.”
Jamal nodded gratefully.
“Thank you for standing up for them when I couldn’t be here.”
As Gregory disappeared into the cockpit to inform the captain of the situation, the power dynamic had completely reversed.
The same flight attendants who had treated Zora and Zire with suspicion and disdain now faced the consequences of their actions.
And Jamal Carter had no intention of making those consequences easy to bear.
