WHEN THE LEAD FLIGHT ATTENDANT DOUSED ME AND MY FEDERAL PAPERS WITH ORANGE JUICE, SHE SMIRKED. I CALMLY GRABBED MY BADGE, KNOWING SHE’D JUST MADE A MISTAKE—SHE’D SPILLED JUICE ON THE ONE PERSON WHO COULD STOP HER MULTI-MILLION-DOLLAR PLANE. The glass of water should have been a simple request. But in the hushed, rarified air of seat 3A, it became the spark. Mrs. Eleanor Vance, an elegant, older woman in a tailored tweed suit, sat quietly reviewing a thick binder. She had politely asked for a gla