Chapter 4 - The Wake-Up Call on the Tarmac
Allara didn't flinch. She stepped forward, pressing the phone closer to Ryan's immaculate silver-haired head.
"If you do not take this phone right now, Captain, your career in aviation will be over before this rain stops," Allara said, her tone devoid of emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying.
Something in Allara's eyes—a chilling, absolute certainty—finally pierced through Ryan's armor of arrogance. Annoyed and deeply patronizing, Ryan reached out and snatched the phone from her hand. He didn't put it on speaker; instead, he pressed it to his ear with a mocking smirk, playing along with what he assumed was an elaborate charade.
"Listen here, whoever you are," Ryan said into the phone, his voice dripping with condescension. "This is Captain Ryan Sterling. Some delusional vagrant in a hoodie has wandered onto the tarmac, and she’s wasting my departure window. If you're her legal guardian or her handler, come pick her up before I—"
"Shut your arrogant mouth, Ryan!" Marcus Vance's roar through the earpiece was so loud and venomous that Ryan actually flinched, pulling the phone away from his ear for a split second.
Ryan blinked, stunned by the sheer fury radiating from the line.
"Mr... Mr. Vance?" Ryan stammered, his professional bravado cracking for the first time. "Sir, I didn't realize you were—"
"You didn't realize a lot of things, you pompous, incompetent fool!" Marcus shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the damp air as Ryan finally fumbled and hit the speakerphone button. "Do you have any idea who is standing in front of you right now?"
"She's... she's just a trespasser, sir. She's wearing a muddy sweatshirt and sneakers. She doesn't look like—"
"She is Dr. Allara Banks!" Marcus screamed over the phone. "She owns the holding company that owns Obsidian Aviation! She owns the very aircraft you are standing in front of! She owns the hangar behind you, the fuel trucks on this runway, and the very license you are currently using to earn a living!"
The color drained entirely from Ryan's face. The pristine, sun-tanned skin turned a sickly, pale gray. His jaw went slack, and his eyes darted from the phone in his trembling hand to Allara’s calm, unblinking expression.
"O-owner?" Ryan whispered, his voice cracking horribly. "The... the owner? But... but she's wearing..."
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"She can wear a potato sack if she damn well pleases!" Marcus roared. "You were hired to fly the aircraft, not to act as a fashion gatekeeper for the primary stakeholder! Hand the phone back to Dr. Banks immediately and pray to whatever god you believe in that she decides to let you keep your pilot's license!"
The phone went dead with a sharp click as Marcus hung up on the other end, leaving the raw sound of the pouring rain to fill the heavy, suffocating silence on the tarmac.
