The captain stopped beside my economy seat and saluted me. “General, ma’am.” In an instant, the laughter died down, my father’s smile faded, and the family who had been taunting me all morning finally realized they’d never known who I was. But the real secret wasn’t my rank.
Part 1
The VIP lounge at Los Angeles International Airport was filled with the scent of dark roast coffee, lemon lip gloss, and an atmosphere of opulence that made people lower their voices even when no one asked them to. Large windows overlooked the runway. Leather chairs were arranged in neat groups. At the bar, a man in an impeccable white shirt was popping open a bottle of champagne at eleven in the morning, as if it were a regular Tuesday ritual.
My family seemed born for that room.
