When the head flight attendant poured orange juice over me and my federal documents, she sneered. I just reached for my badge. She had no idea she had just spilled juice on the one person with the authority to ground their multi-million dollar aircraft. 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 as