On a red-eye out of JFK, a Platinum Elite woman tried to kick me out of my 1A seat because
The glass walls of JFK’s Terminal 8 glowed in the evening light, planes glinting on the tarmac. Inside the first-class boarding lane, everything whispered exclusivity: polished counters, hushed attendants, the faint clink of crystal. Maya Carter adjusted her leather briefcase, letting herself a rare moment of relief. After a brutal week of Manhattan meetings and…