The Billionaire CEO entered the hangar expecting everyone to stand.
Most of them did.
The Single Dad did not.
He was halfway beneath the tail section of her white long-range jet, one shoulder pressed against a padded creeper, a flashlight between his teeth and both grease-darkened hands wrapped around a maintenance access panel.
The Hangar Manager hurried toward her.
“Ma’am.”
She kept walking.
“Where is he?”
The Hangar Manager glanced toward the aircraft.
“He’s finishing an inspection.”
“No.”
She removed her narrow black glasses.
“He finished the inspection yesterday.”
The Hangar Manager hesitated.
“He finished the scheduled inspection.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
The Hangar Manager looked toward the mechanic under the airplane.
“It means he found something.”
The Billionaire CEO stopped.
Around her, the hangar was immaculate.
Bright overhead lights.
Polished concrete.
Tool cabinets arranged with military precision.
Inspection ladders.
Diagnostic carts.
Open access panels along the aircraft fuselage.
Her jet occupied the center bay like a white monument to money.
She had spent more than thirty million dollars buying it.
Another several million upgrading the interior.
Then nearly four hundred thousand dollars rebuilding systems during the current maintenance event.
The aircraft was supposed to leave Texas that afternoon.
Instead, it remained inside a hangar while one mechanic refused to sign a piece of paper.
The Billionaire CEO looked toward him again.
He finally rolled out.
Rugged white American man in his early forties.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark-brown hair that looked as though he had cut it himself.
Short rough stubble.
Charcoal work shirt with the sleeves rolled above his forearms.
Faded jeans.
Heavy boots.
He removed the flashlight from his mouth.
Then looked at her.
No smile.
No nervousness.
No attempt to impress her.
The Billionaire CEO disliked him immediately.
That was not entirely true.
She disliked the effect his lack of fear had on her.
He stood.
The Hangar Manager said:
“Single Dad, CEO is here.”
The mechanic wiped his hands on a shop rag.
“I can see that.”
The Billionaire CEO stepped closer.
“My aircraft was scheduled for release at nine this morning.”
“Yes.”
“It is now four-thirty.”
“Yes.”
“Seven pilots have refused the airplane because your signature is missing.”
The Single Dad nodded.
“They’re smart.”
Her expression hardened.
“That is your answer?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the Hangar Manager.
“Leave us.”
The Single Dad shook his head.
“He stays.”
The Billionaire CEO slowly looked back toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s accountable for the facility.”
“I’m accountable for the aircraft release.”
“So he stays.”
The Hangar Manager looked like a man trapped between weather systems.
The Billionaire CEO folded her arms.
“Fine.”
She took one more step.
“What is wrong with my airplane?”
The Single Dad held out a maintenance binder.
She did not take it.
“Tell me.”
“Directional flight-control actuator on the secondary yaw system.”
Her brow furrowed.
“The actuator passed the bench test.”
“Yes.”
“The manufacturer representative cleared it.”
“Yes.”
“The computer says it is within limits.”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly are you refusing?”
The Single Dad looked toward the airplane.
“The part behaves correctly on the bench.”
“And?”
“It doesn’t behave correctly in the aircraft.”
She stared.