The Whole Plane Went Silent When the Pilot Called Me ‘Iron Fist,’ and the Chilling Reality the Man in 12B Discovered About the ‘Thug’ He Mocked, The $12 Economy Seat and the F-22 Escort…

The cabin smelled of recycled air and cheap coffee, the kind of scent that settles into your clothes and refuses to leave until you’ve scrubbed your skin raw. Seat 12A. Window. That was my world now. A sixteen-inch square of fabric and plastic where I was supposed to fit a life that used to take up entire drop zones.

I …