“You could make much more money.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t care?”
“I care.”
“Money is useful.”
“But my daughter already lost one parent.”
“I’m not volunteering the other one to work.”
That sentence stayed with her.
They spoke for fifty-three minutes.
No flirting after the first five.
That made the call more intimate than flirting would have.
At the end, she said:
“Single Dad?”
“Yes?”
“When the investigation is over…”
He waited.
“I’m asking again.”
He smiled.
“I know.”
The investigation lasted six weeks.
The truth was ugly but contained.
The primary supplier had unknowingly purchased a batch of components through a fraudulent intermediary created by two former aviation-parts brokers.
Documentation had been altered.
Serial plates reused.
Most units were authentic surplus parts with falsified traceability.
Three had unknown maintenance history.
One had internal wear exceeding approved limits.
No known accident resulted.
Still serious.
Federal authorities seized inventory.
The supplier lost approved status pending review.
The Billionaire CEO’s company expanded incoming verification procedures.
Supplier audits became mandatory for high-criticality components.
Independent serial confirmation became standard.
The Aviation Director was not involved in fraud.
But he had allowed pressure for faster aircraft turnaround to weaken verification practices.
He received disciplinary action and lost procurement authority.
The CEO expected him to resign.
He did not.
Instead, he apologized.
Then stayed and rebuilt the system.
The Single Dad respected that.
One afternoon, the CEO entered the hangar and found him signing the aircraft log.
Her heart actually accelerated.
He noticed.
“You look nervous.”
“I am.”
“That’s new.”
“Are you releasing it?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the jet.
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
“Actuator?”
“Manufacturer-certified replacement.”
“Installed.”
“Tested.”
“Heat cycled.”
“Loaded.”
“Inspected.”
“Paperwork verified independently.”
The CEO smiled.
“Your signature?”
He turned the logbook toward her.
There it was.
His name.
Date.
Certification.
She stared at it longer than necessary.
Then looked at him.
“So I can fly.”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
The Single Dad raised one eyebrow.
She smiled.
“I wanted to hear it.”
“Aircraft is airworthy within the scope of our work.”
“That is the least romantic sentence imaginable.”
“It isn’t supposed to be romantic.”
The CEO stepped closer.
“Good.”
She removed her glasses.
“No unresolved discrepancies?”
“None.”
“No invoices?”
“One.”
She frowned.
“How much?”
He named it.
Her eyes widened.
“That is outrageous.”
“Parts.”
“Labor.”
“Storage.”
She stared.
The Single Dad smiled.
“You can dispute it tomorrow.”
She moved closer.
“Am I still your customer?”