Chapter 3The Seat War

The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up.

In the calmest voice I could manage, I recounted the entire story, from the confrontation over the seat to my missing luggage.

The customer service agent's voice was sweet and scripted. "Okay, Ms. Hayes, we've logged all the information you've provided."

"Regarding the seating issue, our records show the captain resolved it for you on board."

"As for your luggage, we will launch an immediate investigation. Please keep your line open."

"How long will the investigation take?" I pressed.

"Well… we can't give you a precise timeline at the moment, but we will contact you as soon as we have any news."

What followed was an endless, maddening wait.

One day. Two days. Three.

The airline's call never came. It was as if my complaint had been dropped into a black hole.

Every day I went to the baggage office at the airport, and every day the answer was the same: "It's still under investigation."

When I demanded to see the security footage, they gave me a carousel of excuses.

"The technician in charge of surveillance is on vacation."

"The system is down for maintenance."

"It appears the footage from that day has been overwritten."

I knew they were stonewalling me. In their eyes, the whims of a top-tier VIP client were far more important than justice for an ordinary passenger. What I had lost wasn't just a suitcase; it was my dignity, ground into the dirt by their indifference.

I was exhausted and stressed. The deadline for my project was fast approaching, and without my documents and samples, I was dead in the water.

Just as I was about to give up hope, I received a call from an unknown number.

"Hello, is this Ms. Hayes?" a low, feminine voice asked.

"This is she. Who's calling?"

The woman on the other end chuckled. "Who I am isn't important. What's important is that I know where your luggage is."

My heart leaped. I sat up straight. "Did Mr. Place put you up to this?"

"Marcus is a very busy man. He doesn't have time for you," the voice purred, dripping with a sickening mix of triumph and pity. "It's me. Vivian."

"Joanna, darling. Your things? I have them right here."

My hand tightened around the phone. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing much," Vivian said, her tone growing playful. "I just feel so sorry for you, I thought I'd show you a way out of this mess."

"Tonight. Eight o'clock. The Grand Hyatt, Presidential Suite, room 8888."

"Marcus will be waiting for you."

"You come over, get on your knees in front of us, and apologize. Properly. Three times, head to the floor."

"If you're sincere enough, maybe Marcus will be in a good mood and give you your things back."

"In your dreams!" I was shaking with fury. "I'm calling the police! This is extortion! It's theft!"

Vivian burst out laughing as if I'd told the funniest joke in the world. "The police? Go ahead. Call them. What proof do you have?"

"Do you have any evidence that we took your bag?"

"Don't be a fool, Joanna. In this world, without proof, your words are just noise."

Her voice turned sharp. "And one more reminder. Those documents of yours… they seem pretty important, don't they? It would be a shame if they were to get… damaged. Or worse, leaked. Can your company afford that kind of loss?"

It was a naked threat. Shameless, vile, and despicable.

"Oh, and one more thing," Vivian added. "Come alone."

"If you try any tricks, you'll regret it."

She hung up.

I stood there, gripping my phone so tightly I thought it might shatter.

Rage and humiliation were two venomous snakes, gnawing away at my sanity.

Should I go? If I went, it would be a complete debasement. If I didn't, my job, my entire career, could be ruined.

I paced the room, my mind a chaotic storm. I unlocked my phone, intending to call someone, anyone, but the screen was still on the call history.

And looking at the unknown number, my heart suddenly stopped.