A minute later two people entered — one wearing a station-management badge, the other a navy suit. They stopped by row two. Evelyn could not hear the conversation, but she saw Celeste gesture impatiently toward the rear. The station manager took a step down the aisle, then returned to whisper something to the person in the suit.

Amanda approached Evelyn with an expression stripped of its earlier certainty. "Ms. Hart, someone would like to speak with you after the other passengers leave."

"Who?"

"Mr. Reed, from airport customer experience."

"I have to get to a hospital."

"It should only take a few minutes."

Evelyn considered the request. She needed the record settled, but no conversation with an airline executive was more important than her mother.

"He can speak to me while I walk," she said. "Or he can call later."

Amanda looked distressed. "I'll tell him."

Passengers began filing out. Leah paused to give Evelyn a small, fierce hug. "You have my number," she said. "Don't let them tell you it didn't happen."

"I won't. Have a good internship."

Victor shook her hand. "I hope your family is okay."

Evelyn was surprised. "How did you know?"

"You were looking at that photo all flight. I guessed you were going somewhere important."

She thanked him, collected her bag, and stepped into the aisle. At the front, Celeste stood beside a man in a perfectly fitted gray suit. Her assistant, already waiting at the gate, had begun making calls. Celeste saw Evelyn and tilted her chin.

"There she is," Celeste said. "The woman who caused the scene."

The man in the gray suit glanced toward Evelyn. "Ms. Hart? I'm Graham Reed. We'd appreciate a private conversation."

"I have a family medical emergency," Evelyn replied. "You may walk with me to ground transportation."

Celeste gave a small, incredulous laugh. "You're not going to let her dictate terms, are you?"

Graham looked uncomfortable. "Mrs. Marlowe, we're hoping to resolve this constructively."

"Then stop making it a production."

Evelyn turned to Graham. "Please preserve the original boarding record, the manual seat-change log, any crew incident reports, and the communications with the departure station. You should also know that another passenger has video of the spill."

The mention of video transformed Celeste's face. A tiny movement at the corner of her mouth vanished almost immediately — but Evelyn saw it.

"Video can be misleading," Celeste said quickly.

"That's why the original file matters," Evelyn answered.

Graham cleared his throat. "We want to understand everything."

"Good. Then put that in writing and send it to me."

She began walking. Graham followed, forcing Celeste either to join the procession or remain behind. Celeste stayed where she was, gripping the handle of her expensive bag.

"Ms. Hart," Graham said when they reached the jet bridge, "I believe there may have been a misunderstanding involving a preferred customer."

"Who preferred her?"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You used the phrase preferred customer. Who made that decision, and on what basis did it override a confirmed seat assignment?"

"The situation was handled through the station."

"Then your answer will be in the station's records."

Graham looked as though the conversation had taken a turn for which he possessed no script. Evelyn felt no triumph. She wanted to be at the hospital, holding her mother's hand. The airline's maze of titles and excuses was only an obstacle between her and that simple wish.

At the end of the jet bridge, Graham handed her his card and promised a formal response. Evelyn photographed it beside her own boarding pass. She said goodbye, walked through the terminal, and climbed into the first available taxi.

Only after they reached the highway did her phone ring. The caller was not Graham. The screen displayed an unfamiliar number with the same area code as Meridian's headquarters.

"Ms. Hart?" said a woman. "My name is Priya Shah. I hope this isn't a bad time. I'm calling because I have a question about a seat-change record from your flight."

Evelyn sat straighter. "How did you get my number?"

"It's in the reservation file. I should explain that I'm not authorized to investigate passenger complaints directly, and I don't want to mislead you. But I noticed something that worries me."

The taxi passed a billboard advertising Meridian's new promise: EVERY JOURNEY, PERSONAL.

"Go on," Evelyn said.

"Did you voluntarily request to move from seat 2A to seat 31F at 5:01 this morning?"

"No."

Priya inhaled sharply. "That's what I was afraid of."

The first thing Evelyn saw when she entered the hospital room was a vase of yellow chrysanthemums on the windowsill. Her mother had always disliked expensive bouquets with elaborate paper wrapping. Flowers, she said, were supposed to look as though they had remembered the outdoors. Her brother must have bought these at the grocery store, their stems uneven and their petals turned toward the afternoon light.