“First class in that sweatshirt? Right, sweetheart,” a gate agent sneered before destroying a passenger’s passport—an act that triggered a federal investigation, grounded an airline, and exposed the relentless pursuit of justice by an undercover FAA inspector.

Linda flipped through the passport slowly, her movements deliberate, almost theatrical. She examined the photo, then looked up at Naomi again, her gaze sharpening.

“This doesn’t look like you,” she said.

Naomi blinked once, more out of habit than confusion. “It’s from a few years ago,” she replied calmly. “It’s still valid.”

Linda tilted her head slightly, as though considering that explanation, though her expression suggested she had already made up her mind.

“And you’re flying first class?” she added, the question less about logistics and more about implication.
Naomi felt the familiar tightening in her chest, the quiet recognition of where this was heading. She could have defused it, perhaps, with a joke or a softer tone, but something in her—something sharpened by weeks of observation and restraint—refused to bend.