The aircraft shuddered again as another wave of turbulence hit, but Claire held her ground on her knees, her eyes fixed on the device's flashing light.
"No shock advised," the AED spoke calmly. "Checking pulse. Continue oxygen and monitor."
"His airway is clearing," Dr. Aris said, listening with his stethoscope again. "The high-flow oxygen is working. Pulse is stabilizing. We need to keep him flat and elevated at thirty degrees."
Claire immediately grabbed two pillows from an empty seat, sliding them gently beneath Harold's head. She took the man's cold, trembling hand in hers, stroking his knuckles with her thumb.
"You're okay, Harold," she whispered, her voice soft, gentle, and infinitely comforting. "You're okay. We've got you. The doctor is right here. Just breathe easy."
The elderly man’s eyes flickered open beneath the plastic oxygen mask. He squeezed her hand feebly.
Slowly, the violent shuddering of the aircraft began to subside. Captain Ward had navigated the 777 into smoother air at 37,000 feet. The continuous drop and roll smoothed out into a gentle, rhythmic vibration.
Claire remained on the floor for ten minutes, holding Harold's hand, monitoring his oxygen gauge, and speaking softly to his sobbing wife until the man's color slowly returned from grey to a healthy flush.
Only when Dr. Aris confirmed that the patient was stable and out of immediate danger did Claire slowly stand up. Her left arm was bruised and stiff, her tear-stained face was now smudged with cabin dust and blood, and her navy blazer was ruined.
She turned to walk back to the forward galley to report the medical event to the flight deck.
Standing at the edge of the Main Cabin bulkhead, watching her silently, was Marcus Vance.
CHAPTER 10: DESCENT INTO HEATHROW
Dawn broke over the Irish Sea in a blaze of cold orange and soft pink light.
Flight 704 began its long, gradual descent toward London Heathrow Airport. Below the aircraft, a thick blanket of silver clouds covered the English Channel, catching the first rays of the morning sun.
Inside the forward galley, the frantic energy of the night had settled into a quiet, exhausted routine. Maya Lin was carefully repacking the unused meal trays, while Claire Sterling sat on the crew jumpseat, a tight elastic bandage wrapped around her left wrist and shoulder.
The emergency report had been logged. Harold Jenkins was stable, resting comfortably in First Class Suite 3A, which Marcus had personally ordered to be opened for the patient so he could lie flat for the remainder of the flight. An ambulance was already pre-positioned to meet the aircraft at Gate B42 upon arrival.
Claire stared down at her bare hands. The vanity, the rigid pride, the defensive arrogance that had defined her career for two decades had been completely stripped away. She felt empty, exhausted, but strangely clear-headed.
She knew what was coming. The moment the aircraft doors opened at Terminal 2, she would be met by the Chief Operations Director. Her badge would be confiscated. Her twenty-two years with Meridian Airways would end not with a retirement ceremony, but with an administrative investigation and a quiet termination.
The curtain to the First Class cabin parted. Captain Harrison Ward stepped into the galley, his coat back on, his face solemn.
"We’re thirty minutes from touchdown, Claire," Ward said quietly. "London Control has cleared us for direct routing to runway 27 Right."
"How is Mr. Jenkins?" Claire asked softly.
"He's stable," Ward replied. "Dr. Aris said your immediate administration of high-flow oxygen and rapid placement of the AED prevented a full cardiac arrest. You saved his life, Claire."
Claire offered a faint, bitter smile. "At least I did one thing right on this flight, Captain."
Ward looked at her with a mix of sympathy and strict professionalism. "The Chairman has requested to see you in Suite 1A before we begin our final landing checks."
Claire’s heart gave a single, dull thud. She nodded slowly. "Of course."
She unbuckled her jumpseat harness, stood up, and smoothed the front of her torn uniform as best she could. She didn't look in the mirror this time. She didn't care about the mascara or her hair. She walked through the curtain and down the aisle to Suite 1A.
setup inside the suite had been restored. Arthur Pendelton sat in his original seat across the aisle in 2B, leaving Marcus Vance alone in 1A.
Marcus was looking out the window at the morning light reflecting off the clouds. When he heard her approach, he turned his head slowly.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Vance?" Claire asked, her voice steady, stripped of all pretense.