Pay to fly. The pilot factory: how an airline turn safety into a business model?
Written by Whistleblower
I picked up the phone. My friend was recounting her experience at a poker event in Malta, her voice light and carefree as she spoke of holiday memories. Yet beneath that playful recollection, a shadow emerged—an unsettling encounter with a European airline she had flown with. The passengers are headline-making names, blissfully unaware that they are unwittingly auditioning for the next Final Destination movie. That single thread of her story caught my attention, compelling me to delve deeper into the modern systems meant to safeguard passengers in the skies. Could it be that one of Europe’s airlines is quietly gambling with human lives?
My friend and her companions had flown with KlasJet, a Lithuanian company operating under the Avia Solution Group umbrella. KlasJet provides both ACMI and VIP services. For those unfamiliar, ACMI is a leasing arrangement in aviation where an airline supplies an Aircraft, Crew, Maintenance, and Insurance to another carrier. The lessee handles costs such as fuel, airport fees, and ground operations, while the lessor provides the ACMI package. This model is often used to meet seasonal demand, test new routes, or cover unexpected capacity shortages.
VIP aviation, on the other hand, is built around highly personalized private travel, prioritizing comfort, discretion, and flexibility for high-profile clients. Luxury aircraft, bespoke services, and access to private terminals bypassing standard airport procedures are what you expect as a VIP passenger. But… really?
Flying museum of aviation
Let’s take a closer look at KlasJet’s fleet. For VIP services, the company operates three Boeing 737-500s and three Boeing 737-300s. Since production ceased in 1999, five of the aircraft have reached the age of 33, while the youngest in the fleet is 28. By any standard, these are old, aging planes. In Europe, the average age of commercial passenger aircraft is usually around 15–20 years. Beyond that, airlines typically retire planes due to skyrocketing maintenance costs and increasing mechanical risks.
KlasJet’s VIP fleet operates vintage aircraft equipped with CFM56-3C1 engines. Over time, these 1980s-era engines also consume more fuel, and the EGT (Exhaust Gas Temperature) margin decreases, imposing operational limits in hot climates or at maximum load. Put bluntly, these planes are a mechanic’s and pilot’s nightmare. Even cargo operators steer clear of them. Southwest Airlines retired this very model in 2016. Yet here they are, forming the backbone of KlasJet’s VIP fleet.
It’s astonishing that these planes fly at all. The truth is, most of their time is spent grounded in hangars, undergoing constant repairs. Pilots joke—or perhaps grimly acknowledge—that the aircraft spend more hours under maintenance than in the air. And yet, somehow, they are expected to perform VIP flights, on tight schedules, over long distances, with engines and systems that are decades past their prime.
When guests from a high-profile event in Malta boarded two VIP aircraft operated by KlasJet, few could have guessed the hidden danger awaiting them. One flight departed on time, but the other was delayed due to severe technical issues—issues that would make any safety-conscious airline ground the plane immediately. My investigation revealed a shocking reality: the aircraft had critical landing gear malfunctions, yet the crew proceeded with a fully booked cabin, ignoring basic aviation safety protocols. After this reckless flight, the plane underwent extensive repairs to the entire landing gear system and remained grounded for many, many days.
With KlasJet’s questionable safety standards and the precarious state of their aircraft, the question is unavoidable: would you really risk stepping on board?
So how does KlasJet cope with the limitations of aging aircraft with notoriously unreliable engines, whose age and wear severely restrict operational range and performance? The answer is as archaic as it sounds: pilots rely on paper Manual Load and Balance Sheets and perform all the critical calculations by hand.
It’s a painstakingly slow and impractical process, fraught with human error, especially under the time pressure of last-minute changes. Modern aviation relies on computerized software that automates these critical calculations. Yet for KlasJet VIP flights, pilots are still forced to perform these life-critical computations by hand.
Is this intentional? Perhaps. A miscalculation—whether “on purpose” or not—can allow a flight to take off under conditions that might otherwise be deemed unsafe, enabling the company to complete the flight and issue the invoice. Why would pilots take such risks? Because their pay is tied to flight hours logged, not to assessing aircraft safety nor technical conditions and potentially canceling a flight for the safety of passengers and crew.
Do you think a story like this has no place in the modern world, that it’s just journalistic fiction or clickbait? Then you definitely need to read on – the reality is stranger than fiction. Could it get any worse?
It is no secret that KlasJet exerts pressure on its pilots. Those who reported too many technical defects in the Aircraft Technical Log or refused to fly were quietly removed from the company under any pretext. Eliminating “problematic” pilots is particularly easy when they are employed on temporary contracts as service providers through an agency in Dubai—contracts that offer virtually no protection under European labor law.
Why don’t pilots simply leave and seek employment in more safe environments? The reasons are human, and painfully pragmatic. Changing companies is a slow process, often taking months, during which pilots may receive little or no pay. Each change disrupts their seniority, affecting relationships and standing within a new organization. Many also face slim prospects of employment elsewhere due to perceived gaps in skills or experience.
Why is no one reporting these issues? Pilots who report problems through KlasJet’s reporting system are labeled as “troublemakers” and removed from the company. Reporting to the Lithuanian aviation authority is also largely ineffective due to vested interests – one inspector from the Lithuanian CAA is employed by KlasJet as the Chief Instructor in the Crew Training department. This is the secret behind KlasJet’s impunity.
EASA requires airlines to submit a certain number of reports as part of their Safety Management System (SMS). At KlasJet, there were hardly any reports (because everyone in the company knows what they’re really for). The situation was so “perfect” that the company was eventually forced to offer financial incentives just to generate any reports at all and meet EASA’s requirements.
So, are KlasJet pilots consciously making mistakes, or are they trapped in a system that practically guarantees them? To answer that, we need to examine KlasJet’s pilot training system.
A fish rots from the head down.
Problems in an organization often start at the top. In an airline, two key positions are traditionally held by highly experienced pilots, recognized for their skills and respected by the crews under their command. The Head of Training is responsible for pilot training, skill development, and maintaining unquestionable qualifications, while the Director of Flight Operations, also known as the Chief of Pilots, oversees day-to-day flight operations to ensure safety, efficiency, and compliance with aviation regulations. So, the question arises: who occupies these crucial roles at KlasJet?
Zbigniew Młotkowski holds the title of Head of Training, though he prefers to style himself as Director of Crew Training to add a veneer of prestige. His operational experience on Boeings—the company’s core fleet—barely exceeds 1,000 flight hours, the lowest of any captain in the company. It’s a staggering contradiction: the pilot with the least Boeing experience in the entire company is the one in charge of training others—many of whom have logged far more hours on the aircraft than he ever has. Absurd is an understatement.
But the controversies run deeper. Młotkowski was directly involved in the Amber Gold scandal—Poland’s largest Ponzi scheme, often compared to the Madoff affair. A résumé like this at the helm of flight training speaks volumes about the company’s priorities and safety culture.
Młotkowski served as Jet Air’s Chief Operating Officer and a board member. In June 2011, he received an email from Marcin Plichta, CEO of Amber Gold. Shortly thereafter, Młotkowski attended a high-level meeting at Amber Gold’s headquarters in Gdańsk, Poland. Present at the meeting were Amber Gold executives Marcin and Katarzyna Plichta—both now serving lengthy prison sentences—alongside Jet Air’s leadership and external aviation consultants. The meeting marked the start of plans for strategic cooperation between the companies. Stolen investor funds deposited in Amber Gold were allegedly laundered through Jet Air, with Młotkowski positioned at the very forefront of the operation.
Later, before the parliamentary investigative commission, Młotkowski claimed he was unaware that Amber Gold’s funds might have been illegitimate or “dirty.” He stressed that he regrets over accepting a board membership during that period, calling it “one of the mistakes” he would not repeat. Yet, now at KlasJet, he appears to have still not learned how to properly manage company finances.
It looks like Młotkowski has engineered a cash-grabbing machine disguised as pilot training. And here’s how it works: pilot training at KlasJet never ends, making it the perfect money-milking scheme.
In just over a year at KlasJet, Młotkowski rose to Head of Training, obtained TRI (Type rating Instructor) and TRE (Type ratin Examiner) qualifications in record time, and in a manner that raised serious doubts. For perspective, earning a basic aircraft license (PPL) can take longer than it took him to acquire the highest-level instructor certifications. Incredible, yet true.
Here’s the scheme in action: experienced pilots are fired, creating space for brand-new cadets with zero experience. These rookies are then subjected to accelerated, high-cost training programs. Instructors, often loyal to Młotkowski, pocket extra money, sometimes doubling their salaries, while the company burns dozens of euros per trainee. Once trained, these pilots are let go to make room for a new wave of cadets. The cycle repeats endlessly—a true business perpetuum mobile, where the “product” is money siphoned from the company under the guise of training.
Is it profitable? Absolutely.
Is it safe for passengers? Absolutely not.
Is it financially reckless for KlasJet? Undeniably—training a single pilot costs between €30,000 and €50,000, with the investment recouped only after years of active service. Yet at KlasJet, this cycle is rushed to extremes: training that normally takes six months elsewhere is compressed into three months, sacrificing quality for speed—and lining Młotkowski’s pockets. KlasJet believes it’s funding its cadets’ type ratings (€12,000–€16,000), yet the money is quietly being siphoned into Młotkowski’s private company—with a little help from Sandra Diaso in HR.
Moreover, mandatory recurrent training has become a tool for harassment. Pilots outside Młotkowski’s inner circle—or those who openly oppose him—receive artificially low scores on their recurrent exams. Their records are filled with fabricated scenarios and incidents that never actually occurred, deliberately added to create a paper trail to justify potential dismissal.
It goes without saying that many of these pilots possess far more experience and expertise than Młotkowski himself. Conversely, pilots who shouldn’t even pass these recurrent trainings often receive the highest marks and glowing reviews. The scoring key? Their level of loyalty to Młotkowski.
As Head of Training, Młotkowski has built a system where competence is a liability. He surrounds himself not with experts, but with handpicked loyalists whose glaring lack of skill makes him appear like an aviation mastermind by comparison. Instructors are carefully chosen, not for their ability to train pilots, but for their usefulness in propping up his fragile reputation. Veteran professionals—those who could expose his thin veneer of experience—are systematically purged, replaced with underqualified, freshly promoted captains and instructors who will never challenge him. This isn’t a training department; it’s a stage-managed farce, a grotesque theater of aviation where mediocrity is weaponized to keep one man looking like a genius.
So, who’s most likely at the controls of your KlasJet flight? A cadet with barely 200 flight hours on light aircraft and a freshly minted CPL (A) license, “mentored” by a captain personally chosen by Młotkowski—a captain who may have only just stumbled through his own instructor training. The grim reality? Your safety is nothing more than a live experiment, entrusted to pilots molded by Młotkowski and his loyal yet dangerously underqualified cadre of KlasJet’s so-called star instructors.
The second most powerful pilot at KlasJet—the Director of Flight Operations, Diako Rad—is supposed to oversee pilots and guarantee operational safety. In any sane airline, he would stop Młotkowski in his tracks the moment reckless practices emerged. At KlasJet, however, the system is broken. Why? Because Rad owns the flight school that pumps cadets straight into KlasJet, turning the pipeline into a cash machine: guaranteed jobs for rookies, and fat profits for the two men at the top. Hands wash hands, and the money flows straight into their pockets.
Rad and Młotkowski have built a cozy, self-serving alliance, where rules are optional and oversight nonexistent.
The vast majority of the team, mostly Ukrainian pilots with licenses issued under Ukrainian authority, couldn’t care less about EASA rules, since Ukraine isn’t in the EU. For them, EASA rules are irrelevant—as long as the paychecks keep coming.
The upshot? What should be a strict safety system has become a cash-grabbing, rule-bending circus, where passengers’ lives are reduced to experimental variables, manipulated by Młotkowski and his handpicked, dangerously underqualified instructors. In KlasJet, your flight is their playground, and your safety is the price of their profit.
Młotkowski and Rad teamed up to form an inner circle of their closest collaborators. Who are these people?
The entire cycle of firing, hiring, and training pilots at KlasJet runs on the iron will of a single woman: Sandra Diaso, who simultaneously controls finance and HR. No one really knows how she landed the job, but office whispers point to a vast network of connections—some close, some distant—and a Dubai-based recruitment agency that supplies pilots and cabin crew to KlasJet.
Diaso dictates the company’s personnel flow with absolute authority. Without her sign-off, Młotkowski, Rad and their inner circle would be powerless to fire, hire, or shuffle pilots and cabin crew at will. She constantly “proves” her recruitment success, jetting across the globe to bring in new recruits—only to sack 10 to 15 people every single month. The scheme is brutally simple: manufacture gaps, report shortages, hire fresh personnel, and feed them into the company’s endless training machine.
The criteria for her hiring decisions are shrouded in mystery—meaning that on your flight, the flight attendant could be moonlighting as an escort online, while your pilot may have been dismissed from previous airlines for dysfunctional CRM, lack of operational competence, alcohol abuse, or sexual harassment. Yes—these are all documented realities at KlasJet.
In short, KlasJet’s workforce is a perpetual revolving door of underqualified, potentially dangerous staff, orchestrated by Diaso, Mlotkowski and Rad and theirs allies. Your flight is not just a journey—it’s part of a relentless, profit-driven experiment, where absurdity, risk, and personal gain dictate who gets to sit in the cockpit or serve in the cabin.
At the heart of KlasJet’s money-draining machine sits Dominik Kitkovskij, Chief Crew Planning, and his wife Juste, who was promoted to senior crew planning officer in her first week on the job. Without Kitkovskij’s collaboration, Młotkowski could never have handpicked his favored instructors to train the cadets or manipulated flight schedules to suit his own agenda. The result? His inner circle of protégés monopolizes training and dominates the roster, while the rest of the pilots are left at a disadvantage.
Kitkovskij is notorious for cozying up to Młotkowski’s favorites, giving them better schedules and more flying hours. Since pilots are paid by hours flown, not employment, this creates a direct financial incentive for loyalty. Favored pilots often reciprocate in cash or perks, a textbook case of “you scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
This system makes it impossible to maintain a proper balance between optimally filling flight schedule and complying with EASA regulations on duty periods and flight time limitations. Kitkovskij, however, has found a workaround. To create the illusion of compliance, he manually alters problematic entries in the company’s planning software—either deleting them afterward or manipulating their timing. Positioning flights are often removed or falsified (because they never actually occurred). Reporting-for-duty times are shortened from realistic three hours to just one hour before scheduled departure, and post-flight rest periods are cut by two hours. As a result, where EASA mandates a minimum rest of 10 hours, crews may only get five hours of sleep in reality. Manipulating duty periods and flight time limitations also allows the company to keep crew numbers artificially low. On one hand, it creates the illusion of staffing shortages, justifying a new wave of recruitments; on the other, it slashes costs (fewer crew at the base, less money spent). A win-win situation—diabolically clever, just as it sounds.
This is gross negligence. The Kitkovskij family’s manipulative planning bakes cumulative fatigue into the system, a factor frequently cited in aviation accident reports. Pilots don’t dare report exhaustion, knowing it could push them out the door and make way for the next wave of cadets. Meanwhile, Kitkovskij is fully aware, orchestrates these abuses, and profits directly from them, reducing crew and passenger safety to little more than collateral damage.
Kotkovskij’s ambitions clearly go beyond falsifying schedules and rewriting rosters—he’s also taken to slipping into a captain’s uniform and parading as a pilot in KlasJet’s social media campaigns. The stunt is more than just a photo op; it’s a perfect snapshot of the airline’s culture: a glossy PR façade masking a backstage circus of manipulation, corner-cutting, and chaos. Nothing screams “trust us with your life” quite like a manager cosplaying as flight crew while dismantling safety from behind the scenes.
Dear reader, keep reading—the best is yet to come. Let’s introduce the star pilots of KlasJet—the company’s favorites; captains tasked with training other pilots and setting the benchmark for everyone else.
Captain Sebastien Eynaudi suffers from a medical condition that severely limits his mobility—he limps on his right leg, which distorts his posture, struggles to walk through airport terminals, and has to use his hands to adjust his right leg on the aircraft pedals in the cockpit. On a Boeing, the legs are crucial for manual flight or engine failure scenarios. Whatever the exact nature of his condition, he is far from the stereotypical image of a fit, energetic, and alert pilot—someone you would trust with your life as a passenger.
KlasJet’s track record with him isn’t reassuring. The company lost one aircraft after a bird strike incident while Captain Eynaudi was in command. The bird caused serious damage to an engine, yet the flight continued to its destination. The aircraft was subsequently decommissioned, despite the fact that all procedures were reportedly followed. The incident was quietly swept under the rug, and shortly thereafter, Eynaudi was fast-tracked by Młotkowski to TRI status.
And then there’s the more colorful side of Eynaudi’s personality; he is known for his unusual obsession with women’s feet. Cabin crew reports indicate that he does not control his foot fetish, either on or off duty. Flight attendants warn each other about him and even circulate a “price list” of the services—starting with used stockings, with prices increasing depending on the complexity of the services. Stress from flights is allegedly relieved in the company of willing women, for a fee. This is widely known among KlasJet’s staff.
In 2023, Eynaudi was accused, along with another KlasJet pilot, of gang sexual assault on a flight attendant. The company conducted an investigation, and since the two pilots denied the allegations, the company concluded they were telling the truth. Case closed.
Eynaudi’s career trajectory at KlasJet is equally astonishing. For eight years, his previous employer refused to promote him to captain. At KlasJet? Instant captain, base captain, Line Training Captain, and finally TRI. How? Well, being extremely close to Kitkovskij helps—especially if your friendship can be monetized into the largest number of block hours in the company. And now, Eynaudi is upgraded to VIP. Yes, the very pilot who may be flying you in KlasJet’s exclusive VIP package, limping, hands-on-feet, and all.
Captain Manfred Schneider is yet another marvel of KlasJet’s “fast-track to glory” program. He was dismissed from his previous airline for disastrous CRM and poor piloting skills. Schneider somehow convinced the German CAA to let him fly—but TRE privileges? Denied, officially for “unreadiness.” One can only speculate what really went down behind closed doors. Schneider’s incompetence and his blunders have become legendary.
Schneider is a virtuoso of hard landings—unpleasant for passengers, brutal on planes. He is notorious of carelessly taxiing across massive European airports without clearance, flirting with collisions while earning official EASA reports. Schneider’s pièce de résistance: a desperate phone call to KlasJet’s Operations Control Center asking whether there are wind limitations for takeoff. For the uninitiated, that’s like a bus driver asking whether red means stop or if water is wet. There’s hardly a flight in which Schneider doesn’t commit some technical blunder, all of which have become a source of ridicule in the company. Some pilots outright refuse to fly with him; others resign from KlasJet rather than endure his shenanigans and unprofessional behavior.
Schneider has a “soft spot” for female cabin crew. Company procedures do not require him to hover in the galley or aisles during pre-flight prep, yet these cramped spaces are ideal for close encounters. Cabin crew go to great lengths to avoid his flights, even pleading with the purser to assign them as far back as possible. Naturally, Schneider frequently leaves the cockpit mid-flight to “socialize” with young crew members. Who’s at the controls when he does? Likely a cadet he’s supposedly training.
Practically all of KlasJet’s benchmark pilots perform at a comparable level. Those who genuinely possess skills are perceived as a threat to the existing power structure and are either dismissed or leave voluntarily. Crew turnover at KlasJet is nothing short of dramatic.
Online reviews from both current and former KlasJet employees paint a damning picture: the word that keeps coming up is “toxic.” Time and again, employees label it a toxic company, a toxic environment, toxic people—a consistent refrain that hints at deep-rooted dysfunction at every level.
The miracle of training
Dear reader, You’ve just met the so-called masterminds behind the KlasJet “dream team.” And yet, despite this illustrious cast of aviation experts, the company has consistently failed to staff a mere six ACMI planes and six VIP jets, even as its small fleet shrinks year after year.
Meanwhile, global aviation giants with hundreds of aircraft and thousands of flight crew somehow manage this effortlessly—leaving tiny KlasJet looking more like a dysfunctional training ground than a professional airline.
This chaos unfolds despite tireless efforts of Sandra Diaso, busy hiring and firing staff on Dubai contracts; Diako Rad, supplying pilots from his own private school; and the unceasing training endeavors of Zbigniew Młotkowski, alongside top talents like Eynaudi and Schneider, all under the expert planning of Kitkovskij. And still—no pilot at KlasJet is willing to fly to Madeira. Why? Because KlasJet pilots are too afraid to go there. Neither Młotkowski nor Rad—supposedly the company’s star professionals—will step up themselves. Instead, desperate emails are sent, pleading for someone, anyone, brave (not skilled) enough to volunteer.
But perhaps KlasJet’s real business isn’t flying at all. Maybe it’s about siphoning money out of the company, all in full view of CEO Justinas Bulka. Hard to believe Bulka is truly unaware.
As the company’s accounting manager, he is legally responsible, signs all decisions, attends pilot meetings, receives emails, and—like everyone else—has full access to the reporting system. KlasJet’s “solution”? Deny everything, sweep it under the rug, pretend nothing happened, shake hands, and post some irrelevant on company’s social medias; self-congratulatory updates from the office staff. But sooner or later, it will happen—and it will make headlines worldwide.
And then there’s Gediminas Žiemelis, owner of KlasJet and the Avia Solutions Group. It’s almost unbelievable that such a prominent businessman is allowing himself to be played, manipulated, and robbed blind by this circle of schemers. Could it be that he is being deceived, or merely displaying a remarkable naivety?
The picture is stark: a small airline run by insiders, where fear governs pilots, safety is optional, and cash flows straight out the backdoor. Welcome to the hidden world of KlasJet.
VIP on the budget
KlasJet is spiraling down and facing a major problem that it seems completely unable to manage. An inner circle of top employees, exploiting the company for their own personal interests and siphoning money from its operations, operates by flagrantly violating and ignoring basic safety standards. Looking at the ATL records, one can only wonder when their aircraft are supposed to fly, as they spend far more time grounded in hangars for repairs than in the air.
The company has been unable to assemble a full crew for years, and the cycle of firing, recruiting, and continuous training seems endless. The level of training is appallingly low. Pilots promoted within the company are the antithesis of what a professional pilot should be. Aviation brokers steer clear of KlasJet entirely.
There’s a high chance that the flight attendant serving you your pre-flight drink had to fill the toilet water tank by bucket because the automatic system was broken—and after the flight, packs empty bottles and cans into her crew luggage to sell at a nearby shop for a few euros to make extra money. Perhaps your VIP pilot has been wearing the same shirt for three days straight. KlasJet provides a laundry allowance of €17 for a 22-day rotation—insufficient even to wash a single shirt.
For a long time, the company has been on SAFA’s blacklist, facing frequent safety inspections that repeatedly uncover violations. Valuable pilots leave voluntarily because the company expects them to engage in fraudulent practices; pilots won’t risk their careers for that. The EASA-mandated Safety Management System is reportedly used to target pilots who report legally required safety irregularities, leading to their dismissal.
Mlotkowski was brought into KlasJet by Sandra Diaso, with whom he had previously worked at Small Planet. Perhaps it comes as no surprise that under their leadership, that company collapsed into bankruptcy. Now, together at KlasJet, they seem determined to repeat the same “success.”
Meanwhile, twenty-six-year-old Kitkovskij is reportedly learning the basics of crew planning and EASA flight-time regulations from Wikipedia. And as for the so-called instructors at KlasJet—whose competence is highly questionable—it seems may as well have found their licenses in cereal boxes. In other words, the people responsible for keeping flights safe may have no idea what they’re doing.
At the controls of your so-called VIP flight sits a rookie cadet, paired with a barely seasoned—but mysteriously “handpicked”—instructor. Meanwhile, somewhere below, an endless training session drags on aboard a cargo plane with engines and landing gear weeping oil from long-standing faults, its interior patched together with second-hand seats that barely pass for comfort. The two pilots who claim to run the entire operation: Mlotkowski and Rad—the supposed masterminds of KlasJet—have zero VIP experience; their entire careers revolve around cargo hauls and low-cost charters. This is the reality behind the glossy brochure—the standard passengers are not ready when signing up for.
When booking a flight with KlasJet, pray that fortune favors you, count your blessings and make sure you’ve still got nine spare lives tucked away, just in case.
Nobody is perfect. No company is perfect. But when flaws become the company’s defining trait, it’s a clear sign of deep-rooted problems. And when the consequences finally unfold, everyone pretends to be surprised by what was hiding beneath the surface. You won’t be surprised—this is just a matter of time.
