“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.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Linda let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head as though amused by something only she understood.

“First class with that sweatshirt,” she muttered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Sure you are, sweetheart.”

The word hung in the air, heavy with condescension.

A few passengers shifted uncomfortably, their attention drawn despite themselves. Naomi remained still, her expression unchanged, though beneath the surface, something had begun to shift—not anger, not yet, but a kind of clarity, the moment when a situation stops being ambiguous and reveals itself for exactly what it is.