Two years ago, I’d been working 60-hour weeks at his startup, handling the workload of three people after layoffs. Then came that Friday. He called me in and said the company was “restructuring,” and I was “no longer aligned with the vision.”
I left with a cardboard box and a head full of shame.
And now, here I was, sipping apple juice in first class, all because of a whisper.
I peeked through the curtain. He was still in economy, still in 22B. Something didn’t add up.
Later, on my way to the bathroom, I passed him again. He looked worn—frayed blazer, scuffed shoes. Not the sharp executive I remembered.
Back in my seat, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why would someone struggling himself offer me a seat upgrade?
Then the flight attendant returned. “The gentleman in 22B asked if you’d be willing to speak with him.”
Curiosity won.
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