THE IMPASSE
“Mr. Foster—Mr. Foster!”
Tina’s voice followed him down the corridor—not loud enough to disrupt the office, but urgent enough to reach him.
Dominick Foster didn’t stop. He didn’t turn.
Because he was already in motion—the kind of pace that didn’t invite interruption, but didn’t reject it either. It simply continued.
“Mr. Foster.”
Tina adjusted, matching his pace without breaking it. That was something he noticed—and respected.
Dominick slowed just enough to allow her to arrive without making it feel like she had chased him down.
“Yes, Tina.”
“Gary Longwood is demanding that we cover the penalty he’s now facing,” she said, controlled—but just under it, urgency. “He claims it stems from an incident involving Davenport Airlines.”
Dominick stopped.
Not abruptly. Just enough.
His eyes stayed forward.
“This again…”
It wasn’t frustration—he recognized the pattern.
He didn’t respond immediately because he already knew what this was.
Not the pressure. Not the complexity.
The expectation.
He hated this part of the business—the quiet assumption that the firm would bend, smooth, and absorb damage for people who created it.
Brown-nosing disguised as strategy.
And Dominick had spent his entire career ensuring he would never become a part of it.
But Timothy Bale had blurred that line.
Engaged to the client’s daughter.
Lidia.
All presentation. No substance.
A five-star illusion with motel-grade behavior.
Dominick exhaled once, controlled, then turned.
“Advise Timothy,” he said calmly, “of the damage this client has caused—again—and the position he continues to place the firm in.”
A brief pause.
“If he wants to salvage it, he can speak to Gary directly.”
Tina froze—not because she didn’t understand, but because she understood exactly what that meant.
She glanced at him, uncertainty flickering.
How was she supposed to tell a man three tiers above her that he needed to clean up his own mess?
Dominick saw it—the hesitation, the calculation, the quiet weight of being placed in the middle of something she didn’t create.
He was about to say something—
CRASH.
Glass shattered, followed by voices.
Not one. Two.
Loud. Unfiltered. Entitled.
Dominick turned.
And there they were.
Lidia. And her father, Johnson Turner.
Making a scene in the middle of the firm like it was a stage they owned.
“Where is Timothy?” Lidia snapped, her voice slicing through the floor.
“This is unacceptable. Davenport Airlines will not get away with this!”
Dominick didn’t move. Didn’t react.
Because he already knew.
This wasn’t about business.
It never was.
It was about access denied.
A first-class upgrade—to a business-class ticket on a flight that wasn’t even full.
Denied.
Despite who they believed themselves to be connected to.
And when that wasn’t enough, they escalated—creating a scene mid-flight, disruptive enough to be removed and reckless enough to be banned.
And Johnson, unfiltered and unchecked, had taken it further.
Running into the CEO of Davenport Airlines and unloading—calling him an “ignorant trust fund baby,” suggesting he’d be better off addressing his own personal deficiencies than running an airline.
…
Yeah—
That hadn’t gone over well.
